


The Quantum Error

by Rob_Sears



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Quarians, Science Fiction, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-15 18:05:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 53,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11811381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rob_Sears/pseuds/Rob_Sears
Summary: Sam McLeod just had a bad day, but it is about to get even worse. When he becomes trapped inside another universe after a fateful decision, Sam is not elated at the second chance; he is horrified. With his entire world turned upside down, Sam has to adapt to his new climate and use his semi-good judgment for one purpose: to avoid getting involved with anything at any cost. OC-insert





	1. Melancholia

" _I hate you!_ "

The savagery of the comment surprised me, to be honest. Before I could suitably respond though, I felt a cold and wet substance splash across my face as Elizabeth hurled her cocktail at me. My eyes and nostrils stung as the vodka from the Cosmo hit me square in the face and I rubbed at my eyes frantically to alleviate the burning sensation. Grabbing a napkin to dab the drink from me, I was still able to see through my blurry vision Elizabeth's outline as she surged out the door of the restaurant and into the street to be swallowed up into the crowd, having evacuated her seat across from me while I was distracted.

My face had been cleared at this point but my jacket had not evaded discoloration. The dress shirt beneath that was a lost cause, the white fabric stained a pinkish-red – already too saturated for me to hope to get it out in the wash. By now the entirety of the restaurant was probably looking in my direction – seeing as Elizabeth had fled, leaving me as the sole point of visual reference – but I ignored them. I continued wiping at my face and beard while also clumsily trying to mop up the worst of the stains from my jacket.

Well, this had gotten off to a great start already, right? Might as well order more obstacle for the dipshit Sam McLeod to overcome, seeing as though I was in a restaurant.

The waitress approached me, the lone bastard sitting at a table too large for one person, and with a pained face, asked me if I wanted to order. You know, that's probably a tough job, trying to follow up an awkward situation by simply performing the bare minimum of your duties. I bet that was not in her job description advertised on the internet. I just shook my head at her and she briskly departed, leaving me to reek of vodka and triple sec. In reality, the smell of lo mein and orange chicken (at least the whiffs that the booze did not overpower in the immediate area) from the other patrons around me was making my stomach rumble, but I was too preoccupied in thought to even consider eating right now. I just wanted to wallow in my hunger and solitude for a little bit longer.

If you were to ask me if sort of event was par for the course in my life, I would tell you immediately that it was not. Well…not all the time, at least. The point is, situations like this happen to me often enough that I should come to expect them and yet I am constantly let down with how reality treats me. It just so happens that I've been exposed to a lot of shit in my life that when things _do_ happen to go sour, I somehow am never taken as aback as you might expect.

Take tonight, for example. I should have seen the signs coming when Elizabeth invited me here, some wonky Asian fusion place in San Jose, for dinner. That was strike number one: we never eat anywhere relatively nice. The second strike came to me when Elizabeth, who was beaming at the time, revealed that she had accepted a job offer in Austin, Texas for a respectable software company. It was at this point when something clicked in my brain; that our relationship together was about to change dramatically tonight. Of course, it was all about how I would react that would determine our friendship terms between us. In hindsight, I reacted rather poorly.

Elizabeth was going on and on about how she was excited for the job and I was legitimately happy for her. I knew that she had been job hunting for months and I was glad that she managed to find something that catered to her interests. It was only when she turned the focus onto me did things get a little…troublesome, for lack of a better word. For a long time, I wished that Elizabeth would have never asked me the question that proceeded to derail everything.

"Will you come to Austin with me?"

That caused me to freeze up, partly in horror and partly in intense thought. In my head, the logistics of moving out to a different state were only part of the myriad issues. I was – _am_ \- currently enrolled in Stanford's sports medicine PhD program and I was really not keen at interrupting my studies to follow a girl and potentially jeopardize my own career. I know the movies make it seem like dropping everything for a woman is the best decision you could possibly ever make, but I'm afraid that reality is a little more complex than what a Hollywood writer would have you believe. At the time, I was already on my way to earning my master's degree "en route" and any interruptions could severely hamper my progress to earn it. I did voice this concern to Elizabeth and she had the breezy response that I could always transfer to the University of Texas and resume my studies there.

This is where things started to go wrong. You see, no one ever transfers _from_ Stanford - even if it's to the University of Texas – especially if you're in this program. Stanford is the university that continually effuses the most renowned doctors in the country and asking me to leave such a prestigious program is practically asking me to perform career suicide even before I've started working in an office. If I moved, I would have lost out on so many opportunities that could not be replicated over in Austin. Not to knock the University of Texas, but a doctorate is worth so much more (not just in the financial sense) if it has the word "Stanford" typed on the top in Old English Text.

People continually bemoan the struggles they face between their work life and family life. Until now, I had not really known how that felt. I also was curious that Elizabeth even gave me this "ultimatum" in the first place. Sure, we may have made a cute couple in the past year, but it seemed like we kept each other at arm's length most of the time. We did not talk as often as other couples did, we did not live together (the only times when we did sleep in the same room was when one of us came over to have sex, and even then the space was awkward between us), so I simply expected Elizabeth to just dump me outright in the restaurant instead of ask me to come with her once she had revealed her career plans to me. Perhaps _she_ should have seen this outcome occurring, come to think of it.

I know it seems heartless, choosing my career over a woman, but if you saw how little Elizabeth impacted me in my normal life, you would have seen this split coming from a mile away. I guess I just wanted to grease the gears on that front.

I did not try to explain my reasoning further. It was my understanding that she could infer the stakes on my end – perhaps if I had communicated them better to her, her reaction would not have been quite so violent. I just laid my hands on the table and refused her offer point-blank, without even attempting to soften the blow. Stupid move, I know, but the iceberg had already hit the ship in my head, so I was trying to scramble to the nearest lifeboat and escape the wreckage. Get it over with quick and clean, like ripping off a bandage.

When Elizabeth started to cry, my only reaction was to look around the restaurant and gauge how much attention we were drawing instead of trying to comfort her. I've only been empathetic to a few people in my life and Elizabeth, despite her being my girlfriend (for a few more minutes), has never been one of those people. I just felt myself getting more embarrassed from her blubbering as well as exasperated from her not being able to realize immediately that this relationship was not going to be salvaged. I did not feel that any of this was my fault; _she_ was the one who wanted to move to Austin in the first place. Through her tear-streaked eyes, she then spoke what would be the start of her final words to me, words that I will never forget for a long time.

"Do you even care about me?"

And then, in my arrogance, I responded, "I do care, Elizabeth. But you're just not important enough to me for me to care even more."

That was when she threw her drink in my face.

Now, as the booze dried on my shirt, I simply resorted to sitting still at my table, taking measured sips of my gimlet, while pondering if there was anything that I could have done that would have not caused such a sudden rift. After consuming half my drink though, I still had not been able to pinpoint any alternatives that I could have taken with my dialogue that would not have ended up in heartbreak. Even though I was hungry, I asked for the check, paid for the two drinks by credit card and signed "Sam McLeod" in my usual scrawl on the receipt. I could always grab something from my fridge back home. The hostess looked rather apologetic as I headed out into the entry hallway and I gave a grunt as she wished me a pleasant evening. How a restaurant host could fake such cheeriness for long periods of time was a skill that I could not even fathom.

I managed to catch sight of my reflection in the mirror while passing through the hallway and I took a moment to analyze my appearance. I let out a sigh; what with the red staining from Elizabeth's Cosmo on my shirt, it looked like I had just murdered someone. I brushed at my brown and bushy hair, praying that it would stay flat, as it tended to flip up a little in the front. I then ran my fingers through my thick beard, making sure that any alcohol had not dried on it and cause the strands to become sticky. With my facial hair, I probably looked five years older than the twenty-four I currently had on me. In my current getup, I looked considerably more dapper than I would in an ordinary setting, but the jacket did a very poor job of concealing my broad frame, giving me the appearance of a football player trying to go incognito. But with this red stain on my shirt mimicking the appearance of blood, I suppose I kind of fit the bill for a football player anyway.

As I exited the restaurant, I was greeted by a wave of heat and noise. It was only seven in the evening on a Saturday, which meant that it was practically peak hours for Santana Row. This was the fanciest shopping complex south of San Francisco and that, combined with the new school year just starting, meant that the streets were packed with people my age, using their Silicon Valley wealth to partake in the classy establishments while going for joyrides in their parents' electric vehicles. Elizabeth was long gone by now and ordinarily she would be able to distract me from the crowds and cause my anxiety to subside. I wondered if she would be all right after tonight. I had no ill will towards her as we did share some nice times together and I would never regret getting to know her a little better from our relationship. Perhaps I just was not the right match for her; it is perfectly normal for two people to gradually realize that they are incompatible together after a while. Happens all the time.

My agoraphobic tendencies were starting to perk up without a comforting presence by my side though, but fortunately I had the appropriate method to counter such feelings. From my breast pocket, I withdrew my trusty packet of cigarettes (Pall Malls – I could never resist American brands), as well as a stainless steel lighter. I hurriedly withdrew one of the cigarettes and proceeded to ignite the tip before I froze up in the middle of the sidewalk out of panic. Once I felt the warm smoke pour into my mouth, I gave a small smile as the faint tingle of nicotine began to itch at the back of my brain. I exhaled, blowing the smoke out in a fine cloud, barely taking stock of my surroundings before I raised my cigarette up for another drag.

I know what you're thinking. You're most likely mentally chastising me for smoking, a habit that is considered disgusting in this day and age, and that it should be fairly obvious that what I'm doing is tantamount to slowly killing myself. Well, fuck you for your opinion. This is a lifestyle choice, one that I'm not proud of where it happened to end up, but it happened anyway. Sometimes our paths in life take routes that lead us to dark places. Besides, after what will happen to me within the next hour or so, I will have bigger things to worry about than lung cancer. Hell, it could be worse – I could be a crack addict or an alcoholic. Gah, both alternatives sound terrible the more I think about them. In comparison, I'm actually quite _glad_ of where I ended up.

Finally moving with the flow of the crowd, I rudely shoved aside a group of tourists who were stupidly parked in the middle of the sidewalk, taking ridiculous pictures of themselves by holding their phones out on some sort of stick. Technology trends just get weirder and weirder, I tell you. I continued to smoke and contemplate my existence some more while I tried to rid my head of the memories of Elizabeth in some sort of frantic purge of unwanted mental files. Was I the cause of everything that transpired tonight? Or had things already been set in motion that I could not halt our break-up, no matter how hard I tried?

Fate surely was a fickle thing. For the life of me, I could not pinpoint if my behavior (somewhat unwarranted) was the catalyst for the rift or that Elizabeth and I naturally grew so far apart that we could no longer sustain a healthy relationship. Maybe at some point, I could have diverted my path and have wound up with a different result down the line, but it was too late right now to even remember what sort of decision could have turned me down a different road. What was done is done. I'm now back to resuming my ordinary bachelor life after this latest failure in a string of doomed friendships.

I took one last drag before I dropped my cigarette butt on the ground so that I could crush it out with my foot. I had reached the parking garage and found my car relatively easily. After clambering in, I spent a minute just staring out into space with my hands firmly clenched on the steering wheel, the key not even inserted.

 _You didn't even try, Sam_ , a voice in my head chastised. _You could have stopped her from leaving but you just let her go._

"I know," I muttered out loud as I finally turned the key in the ignition. The car hummed to life, its paltry hybrid engine producing a very feminine squeal instead of a throaty roar that is supposed to give us males a testosterone rush. "I know…"

I pulled my car out of the garage in relative silence and followed the signs so that I could get on the Interstate-280. It was a weekend, which meant that the traffic was proceeding at a fair pace when I would ordinarily be gridlocked into oblivion. That being said, by no means were the highways empty, but the vehicles currently traveling on it were moving just fast enough that I could settle into a comfortable pace and not have an inkling of annoyance impart on me.

Even though it was only a ten minute drive to my apartment and that it was not that late out, I felt my eyes begin to droop. I bit back a yawn and lazily used my arms to steer the car, barely noticing that it was wobbling within its lane. Truthfully, there comes many points in one's life where the unconscious thoughts residing in the deep cortex of the mind push themselves to the forefront, revealing the real monster locked away within. This happened to be one of those points. Needless to say, I was in a pretty bad place at the time and I willingly let the bad thoughts wash over me, spilling into my head and corrupting my purpose, desperate for rationalization from unlikely places.

If I am to be honest, I'm not what you call a happy person if you have not garnered that yet. Haven't been for years. A split like this might not have upset me in an external fashion, but it turned out to be the straw that broke the camel's back for me in regards to my mental health. It was not from the departure of Elizabeth's presence that I bemoaned, but it was the knowledge that I was alone again for the umpteenth that despaired me so. Even though I lived by myself, it was still comforting to have the knowledge that there was someone out there who shared an intangible link between us. Boyfriend and girlfriend – two people who mutually agree to share a deeper than normal relationship with happiness being a key factor. _Happiness_ being the key word here. With Elizabeth being the latest splinter, the link simply had been shattered too many times for me to start caring anymore. It was back to the doldrums for me unless I did something about that before I could withdraw into a ball of isolation.

I began to count the light posts down from fifty as I drove down the highway in the slow lane. I could see their sickly orange glow from the sodium lamps reflecting onto my windscreen. It was weird, assigning numbers to what would ultimately be headstones. Very morbid thoughts from my end – someone who, in my own opinion, was still relatively sane. I still consider myself to be sane, just that I've been a witness to too much damage in this world. Maybe that was why I was now embracing this horrible urge to cut my story short right here on the highway. I've heard that this sensation, the desire to go through with such a fateful act, was known as the call of the void. Apparently it inflicts everyone within their lifetimes, being a perfectly normal experience for the average person, and it's only a scant few who decide to follow through with their inclinations.

I was one of those few that chose to be a statistic.

"Five…four…three…two…one…zero…," I counted out loud before I finally eyed the sturdy post less than a hundred feet away. Before I could even consider the ramifications of my actions, I gradually turned the steering wheel to the right – not a hard yank, but a deliberate tug. The chassis vibrated as the tires rolled over the rumble strip and I lined up the car so that my side of the vehicle lined up with the concrete base of the light post. I closed my eyes at this point, knowing that I had set everything in motion for this act of my life. I was milliseconds away from impact, but I still had time to exhale in relief. I was not nervous at all, but merely accepting of my fate. I at least hoped that I would not come to my senses in time for me to botch this all up. I then wished that Elizabeth would not take this personally and that she would be all right after this.

I heard a crunching noise and then silence.

_Happy trails, Sam._

* * *

Someone once said that death is the road to awe, that it is a relatively peaceful transition from one world to the next. All you had to do was follow the light and let it wash over you.

Obviously the person who originally came up with that had never died before, because I was not awed at the moment, nor was there any light. Well, specifically there was no singular light that gave me any indication that I should be heading towards it, for I was surrounded in all directions, even downward, by tiny pinpricks that looked like stars. I say downward in relative terms because all I could perceive was the sensation of floating, like I was suspended in a void – or space itself, considering the "stars" surrounding me.

I could not see my body, nor could I change my course while suspended in this weightless state. I simply floated, feeling rather comfortable as I did so but also slightly disappointed as well. Was this the afterlife? There were no pearly gates that I remembered passing through nor did I recall shaking hands with the big man of the house. This was not heaven, but nothing that I could see (or _couldn't_ see) gave me the impression that I was in hell, either. Not that I felt that my actions in the past warranted my placement in hell, but I saw nothing that Dante described in his _Inferno_ that remotely resembled what that unfortunate realm looked like. So if I wasn't in heaven or hell, then where the fuck am I? This whole afterlife thing is such a rip-off!

Fortunately, I was given little time to wallow in my confusion, as I felt a distant buzzing deep in my ears which began to irritate me. The sensation expanded and began to push on my eardrums just like if I was in a pressurization chamber and I yawed my jaw around to adjust to the feeling. My ears popped and that signaled another change. I felt a sucking sensation of my chest and I had the crazy idea that I was being rendered inside out. I could see if anything was physically happening to my body, but I could definitely tell that something weird was going on as a pit began to expand in my lungs, drawing my breath out through my lungs.

Just then, I felt my legs being yanked down suddenly and violently, and the entire expanse seemed to explode as the stars swirled around overhead. I could see that I was moving but there was no air hitting my face to denote that I was actually traveling or if my plane of existence was traveling around me.

I opened my mouth to scream but nothing came out.

* * *

The first thing I noticed was a pain in my chest. Like…almost as if my chest was on fire. Yeah, no…this really did hurt. I think my chest _was_ on fire. I mean, this really, really, really fucking _hurt!_ What the literal fuck?!

Finally drawing enough breath, I pushed it out of my lungs as hard as I could and I was rewarded by the noise of my own shout of pain. My back spasmed and I sat up automatically, opening my eyes that I had not realized had been closed this entire time. Bright white light poured into my eyes and I tried to cry out in agony again, but all I could seem to muster was some sort of a pained gurgle. Blinking my eyelids did absolutely nothing to ease the pain and it was only when I felt the sensation of a hand gently but firmly pushing my upper torso back down did I realize that I was not alone.

"… _ake! He's awake!"_ A female voice was shouting. _"Strap him down before he causes any additional internal damage immediately!_ "

"What – the – fuck?" I groaned as I mentally begged for my vision to clear. All I could see were shadowy shapes moving in front of a blinding white background. I bucked against my restraints, trying to break free, but I was constantly held down despite my efforts. My chest still felt like it was burning and now another pain in my abdomen decided to join the fun and flare up, causing me to yelp.

"Repeat!" the female voice said loudly. "Patient has gained consciousness at 0320 hours. Arrhythmia has settled and wound has been stabilized. Vitals settling down into normal ranges."

Patient? Arrhythmia? Wound? What kind of shit was going on here? Did I happen to spectacularly fuck up my suicide, the one thing that I told myself that I would _not_ fuck up? This was just fucking _perfect!_ If this was indeed the case and I was in fact not dead, then I would have to contend to be confined to a painful recovery from all of the bones I knowingly broke (I was amazed that I was not in a body cast at this point, actually), completely empty out my insurance policy which would mean that I would be rendered broke from the hospital bills, and I would also be committed to mental therapy because I tried to kill myself. That was the American healthcare system for you; your life may be saved but you'll be bent over with gusto from the amount of bills heaped onto you. For god's sake, I might as well do the bending myself and spread my cheeks so that my insurance provider could rape me with debt. It's not like I was particularly wealthy so I had basically no chance of paying any of this off. With this knowledge, I was statistically likely to attempt to off myself again just to avoid paying anything at all.

With a grimace, I squinted my eyes and was rewarded as the white veil was finally pulled back. I was in a snow-colored room – obviously part of a hospital – and I immediately noticed a gaggle of doctors standing around me. I was lying on some sort of bench or a gurney – I couldn't tell which – and I also happened to notice that I was bare-chested based on the bone-chilling air wafting onto my skin, causing prickles to rise. My movements seemed rather slow and sluggish and it took a great effort for me to even tilt my head down – the slight movement causing me to gasp in a combination of exhaustion in pain. It was then that I wished I had not looked at all.

From my perspective I was first able to see the tattoos that had adorned my body, noticing that they were remarkably intact from surviving a car crash. The black circle comprised of bars arranged in a maze-like structure over my heart was still there, as were the tribal patterns wreathed around my upper arm and forearm on opposite sides of my body. For the most part, I could tell that my ribcage was not crushed from a steering column being pushed into it, nor were my legs shattered from the car's engine block being displaced into that space. Those were the wounds that I was expecting so it was understandable that I was confused at my apparent lack of significant injuries to those areas. In contrast, the pain did not feel as bad as I would have figured until I finally did notice that my entire lower torso was completely covered in blood.

"Jesus…" I muttered as the bright redness burned into my retinas. "Jesus Christ."

"Sir?" an olive-faced woman – ostensibly a doctor - bent down to my level, her face lined with concern. "Mr. McLeod, can you hear me?"

"What…" I managed to get out as I laid my head back down, "…what happened…to me? The car…it…"

The doctor looked confused at my rambling statement. "Car? Mr. McLeod, there was no car. Are you aware of what happened to you, sir? Is your name Sam McLeod?"

"Yes…" I hissed in pain to both questions, dimly hearing the rest of the doctors chatter on about my vitals in the background. "Accident…on highway…" I fumbled at the right phrase to say – something that would get the suspicion off of me and would delay me from suicide therapy. That was something I was determined to avoid at any cost. "Drank…too much…at dinner. Fell asleep…at wheel…"

Either the doctor could see through my paltry lies or something was very wrong because her confusion did not go away one bit. "I'm – I'm sorry sir, but you're not making any sense. You were not in a vehicle accident. You were not found near any transportation lanes at all. You were found in an alley, sir, and we picked you up from the third level near the Armax Arsenal. Don't you remember?"

Okay, now I was hopelessly lost. How could they tell me to my face that I was not in a vehicle accident? I vividly remember crashing the fucking _car_ , for Christ's sake! And what the fuck was the Armax Aresnal, some kind of gun shop? And…and I was found in an alley?! What?! _What?!_

"Where…am I?" I coughed out way more calmly than what my internal thoughts were indicating.

"Citadel District Hospital Four," the doctor said fluidly. "You're in Operating – we had to restart your heart when your beating became erratic. We almost lost you, sir."

This was still making no sense whatsoever. I had never even heard of this Citadel District Hospital Four before. I still remembered the general area where I deliberately crashed which meant that I should be in _El Camino_ Hospital just off the 85 highway, not in whatever they said this place was. Was this some private clinic that happened to be more local?

"What happened…to me?" I asked again, now desperate for answers. "How badly am…am I hurt?"

"Your injuries were substantial, but treatable. There was no head trauma so you should not be experiencing any memory loss right now. You had a gunshot wound to the abdomen and-"

Wait…what did she just say?!

Incredulous, I instinctively used my arms to lift my torso up but at the same time, a blast of pain exploded from my body. It did not come from my chest, limbs, but from my abdomen – just as the doctor said. Incredibly, that was the only place that I was wounded for there were no other injuries that had accumulated on my body. Through the blood that stained my skin, I could indeed see a hole just above my stomach surrounded by bright white, freshly healing skin. It was the size of a dime and it wept fluid in a slow leak, not a gushing torrent, but it was the fact that there was a hole in my body to begin with that distressed me so. These were not injuries consistent with a freeway accident. No crash survivors came into operating rooms with just a gunshot to their torso.

What the fuck was happening to me?

One of my arms slipped and I fell backward on the bench heavily, my breathing now restricted to wheezes. I blinked several times as the room spiraled above me. I felt faint and my skin began to grow clammy.

"Damn it!" a high pitched voice said as a figure raced over to one of the panels next to my bench. "His heart rate's spiking! Shock is beginning to take hold again!"

I could not see the person who was currently speaking and it was only when one of the doctors around me moved a little bit did I let out a squawk of alarm. The person who had just spoke was not at all someone I could describe as human – even in my deranged state. For a moment, I had the inane thought that a cosplayer was moonlighting as a doctor in this wacky hospital, but it was only through the man's organic and seamless movements did I realize that I was not staring at a costume but an actual _person_. Their body contours were too thin – way too thin to be a human and they only had three fingers on their hands. At least, that was all I could notice just from their sterile gloves that they wore. But it was their head that gave it away that I was dealing with something else completely nonhuman. It was a skinny head that possessed a flat nose with just tiny holes for nostrils, a wide mouth with flat teeth, and twin horns positioned just above their wide, yet expressionless eyes.

Even though the sight of this person was shocking, I could not help but find a dose of familiarity in the man's appearance. I felt that I had somehow seen this sort of species before, but I could not put my finger on how. Despite all that, I imagine that I had to look pretty freaked out by this point.

With a shaking finger, I pointed it at the mutated freak at the side of my bench. "What…what…what is that?" I croaked out, my lips completely stumbling over my words as they began to grow numb.

The female doctor took a nonchalant glance back at the thing (for lack of a better term) and did not seem fazed in the slightest. "That?" she replied coolly. "That is Doctor Trexa, our salarian xenomedicine expert." She then tried to push me down again. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to remain calm. Slow your breathing and focus on my voice."

Remain calm? How could she think that was possible after confronting me with all of this? I could still hear her words in my head. _Salarian. Xenomedicine_. Where had I heard the word salarian before? Was she expecting me to believe that there was another species working in a hospital? What kind of fool did she take me for-

But then it hit me. It was the second term that caught me off guard way more than the first. Xenomedicine. I knew that xeno was a prefix that related to foreigners - xenophobia was the fear of foreign people, for example – but why would that term be applicable in a hospital setting? After all, a hospital only treated humans so there should be no distinction between operating on human patients unless the xeno term referred to…aliens.

Oh my god…no, it could not be. Surely not. Was the doctor telling me that this salarian was, in fact, an _alien?_ And why was this fact still so goddamn familiar to me? Was I going insane? Was this one of those circles of hell?

I believe that it was my hysterical laughter that brought upon the ending of my discoveries for the time being. I just could not help it. Everything just seemed so damn funny that I started to laugh and could not stop. The woman that was holding me down made a noise of frustration and grunted as she tried to prevent my badly twitching body from falling off the bench.

"Something's wrong!" she shouted. "He's becoming incoherent!"

"It's…just too much," I babbled, now fully lost to this torrid whirlpool that I was now trapped in. "Crash first…then get shot…s'all fucked, I'm telling you. Need to wake…from this dream. Wake me up…please, god damn it! Wake me…"

"It's no use!" Trexa pointed at me. "Sedate him right now! Give him 12 ccs of Propofol before he causes further harm to himself!"

That was the best idea I had heard thus far, even if it did come from an alien's mouth. "Yes!" I indicated with a frantic bobbing of my head. "Do it, please! Sedate me! That will end it! Put me to sleep, goddammit! I don't care anymore, just give it to me right fucking now!"

"Sir!" the woman said loudly. "Please calm down! Just relax and let the medicine do its work."

"I will relax once you-!" I halted mid-sentence as my eyelids drooped unexpectedly. " _Oh_ ," I muttered as I raised my right hand, where I had not noticed before that an IV tube had been strapped to the back of it, running towards a bag that another doctor was currently injecting the contents of a syringe into. It felt like sacks of bricks had been nailed to my eyelids, weighing them down, and I felt my head hit the bench, already experiencing the sensation of floating away once more – this time a little more intensely.

"Careful…fellas," I blathered, the words spilling out of my mouth. "It's my…first time."

And then I mercifully blacked out, the nightmare having run its course.

 _You're down the rabbit-hole now, Sam,_ the little voice taunted.


	2. Rate Your Pain

Being in a hospital is always a disconcerting experience. These facilities seem to radiate an air of uneasiness and dread despite their reputation for healing people. Maybe it's just the always present scent of cleaning products that is used to mask the smell of blood and dying patients that always manages to bring a sickening sensation to my stomach. Ironic, considering my current career path to get a doctorate in medicine.

But can you blame me? No one goes to hospitals unless something bad happens to them – which is probably where the negative stigma comes from. The last time I was in one for an injury was when I broke my arm playing flag football in junior high and that had been an unpleasant experience to begin with. Now instead of having to contend with a cast, I was sitting upright in a soft chair with my lower torso completely bandaged up with a few sparse blood stains beginning to seep through the gauze that had been applied to a gunshot wound, one that I miraculously and inexplicably happened to acquire after I deliberately crashed my car onto the highway in another city, another planet, and another time entirely. There were also two red marks on my chest that looked like an incredibly specific sunburn from the electric paddles that the staff had applied in order to stabilize my heartbeat. If you're confused as to how all of this happened, don't try to press me for questions because I sure as shit don't have any answers.

The nurse had put up some X-rays of my injury up on a television screen of some sort – a piece of technology that looked to possess a much higher resolution than the screens one would see in an regular electronics store. Perhaps this was an organic-LED screen? I'm afraid I'm not always up to date on current technology trends to give an appropriate analysis on that front. In any case, the X-rays showed a bunch of torn fat and muscle near my entry wound where the bullet had presumably hit me, but the slide next to it showed the extent of how the doctors were able to repair it. I was shocked at the difference. Usually a wound like this would have required plastic surgery and perhaps tissue grafts to reconstruct the ravaged tissue but it looked like everything had been stitched back together immaculately. This was the sort of thing that would take months to heal properly and yet the slides showed that the amazing progress had occurred only after a few hours. Hell, if what the X-rays showed was any indication, I was going to walk away from this with only a scar. Lucky me.

That was basically the extent of how the analytical portion of my brain was working – finding comfort in the familiar, medical procedures being the case. The _logical_ portion of my brain however, was all out of whack. I mean, how can one explain that they tried to commit suicide in one universe and in the next moment, they woke up – alive - in another? I wondered if I had only hallucinated the car crash and the events leading up to that moment. But if that was the case, then why can I still vividly remember my life all before that? I can still recall Elizabeth throwing her drink in my face, graduating from high school, making love for the first time, all of it! Was my entire life an entire lie and was this the real world, or had I gone completely bonkers?!

At least I was not in much pain. All the bandages were doing were effectively restricting my torso movement. There was only minor throbbing down near my wound and apparently very little blood was weeping from what the doctors were not able to seal. All things considered, I was rather spry from getting shot in the gut.

"…Effectively, your personal shields managed to absorb the brunt of the kinetic energy which explains why you were not blown apart from the gun blast, but your small intestine was relatively traumatized from the discharge. We sealed all the tears with medi-gel and it has appeared to have healed nicely. Our only concern is…"

The nurse was still droning on about my healing process but I could only manage mindless nods – half listening to her queries. She did not seem to be in on any sort of joke and was taking my presence here rather seriously. Unless this was an elaborate and cruel reality show, it did not seem like the nurses were intentionally tormenting me. Plus, I still remember that I had been referred to by name before I was sedated, which meant that my presence here was already established before my consciousness decided to inhabit this universe. Christ, this was confusing.

Then there were these nonsensical words that the nurse was using in her diagnosis. Personal shields. Medi-gel. I mean, what the hell was medi-gel? And what did she mean by personal shields? So am I to assume that my body somehow is outfitted with shields that can deflect gunfire at any time? Is that a thing in this universe? And medi-gel, is that some sort of be-all-end-all sort of substance that heals all tissue instantaneously? From what the nurse was spouting, it sure sounded like that.

The door to my room opened and another nonhuman walked in with a bundle of clothes. I was still a little groggy from just having woken up half an hour ago so I don't think that my face showed much surprise when confronted with a new humanoid species, but my heart still gave a noticeably jolt nonetheless. This being actually could have passed for a human – or more precisely, a human in an elaborate costume – but like that salarian before, I somehow knew that this was definitely another alien. She had deep blue skin that was scaly like a snake's and a very human face with recognizable features. The top of her head, however, was crested with wavy ridges that seemed to be made out of a rigid cartilage instead of any hair. Come to think of it, apart from eyelashes, the alien had no external fur that I could see. The name for this species popped into my head without anyone in the room making an indication of what exactly this new arrival was: an _asari_.

I think that while I was out, I had subconsciously managed to make the connection of where I truly was, despite my disorientation. The words and terms were now flowing through my head as if a faucet had sprung a leak and I was unable to plug it. Salarians. Medi-gel. Asari. Citadel. I was now starting to recognize everything – which was weird because I _knew_ these elements beforehand. All were instrumental components of a video game that I used to play a few years ago called _Mass Effect_. Fun game with a decent story, not my favorite, but perfect for killing a few hours each day. It was still memorable enough that I could recall the majority of the key points of those three games, but I did not have the capacity to consider them in depth right about now. But apparently I had an idea of where I was, even though this sort of thing was impossible to achieve in the literal sense – if I was to take this at face value. Regardless of how it happened, I guess I had no choice but to accept that I was now stuck in the universe of a video game world.

I should be excited, right? People play video games all the time in order to immerse themselves into a different world so an experience like this should be savored, not shunned. That may be true, but let me point something out: I never wanted to be here in the first place. I wanted to kill myself, right? So, why should I be happy in any capacity that my life had not come to an end yet, especially in such a foreign place?

Wow, that sounds dark when I say things like that out loud. Oh well, it needed to be said anyway.

The asari handed me the bundle of clothes with a cheery smile. "Here you are, Mr. McLeod," she beamed. "These are for you to keep. I'm sorry to say that the clothes that you were wearing previously are now a lost cause. What your blood did not ruin, our doctors did when they had to cut them off of you."

"Thanks…I think," I muttered as I shrugged off the hospital gown and slipped on a pair of loose fitting pants followed by an oversized shirt and slippers. I now looked like a doofus but it was better than walking around naked.

"But these we found in your pocket," the asari held out a plastic bag with a few items inside. "They were the only personal effects that we were able to recover."

I took the bag and opened it. Inside it was just a silver lighter and a packet of cigarettes – an unknown brand. That's weird – I guess my old habits transferred over to this universe somehow. I put the items in my pocket.

"That's it?" I asked.

"That's all we found," the asari nodded. "You did not have a credit chit on you, though, which is suspect but not completely out of the ordinary."

What the hell was a credit chit? I'm assuming that I was supposed to care about its loss, considering the asari taking the time to reference its supposed disappearance. Did she mean a credit card or something along those lines? That was probably the closest thing relatable to whatever a chit was. I could always cancel my chit if it actually was stolen.

Oh great, now I'm starting to immerse myself already. I'm considering financial alternatives based on the fact that I might have lost an item that I never knew I owned in the first place! Fuck, I don't even know how to deal with banks in the future, so why was I thinking about this!? I could hardly make sense of my own finances back in the present! Did I even have money, or an account? Do I still have my 401k, for crying out loud?

The human nurse shut down the screen and now walked over to me with what looked like a tablet computer – only the screen was a monochrome blue. "If you'll just sign here, Mr. McLeod. That will notify your insurance provider and they will take care of all the expenses."

I didn't even want to ask how much such a procedure of repairing my abdomen would cost, so I didn't. Hell, I didn't even know who my insurance provider _was_ at this moment – at least not in this place. But apparently that knowledge was known to the staff here at the hospital so I figured that it was better to let them do their shtick and I'll eventually find out the information for myself. When in doubt, shut your fucking mouth.

I signed the form but held up a hand to stop the nurse before she left. "You said before…that I was found shot in an alley," I said, the words feeling numb on my lips. "Do you know why I was shot in the first place?"

The nurse gave a sad look. "You're not sure?"

"Pretty sure I'm not sure." Oh yeah, I'm pretty damn sure that I would have remembered that. "Isn't this a police matter – me being shot?"

"I'm afraid it's not that simple," the nurse sighed. "You see, C-Sec has a lot on its plate to deal with and a human surviving a gunshot is not at the top of their list right about now, unless they knew who assaulted them. An officer was actually in the room when you were revived, but you were so incoherent that he could not get an official statement from you. Also, the fact that you are unable to remember anything is a common side effect of a traumatic event – acute short-term amnesia. You seem to possess some of the symptoms which could make following up on your case rather difficult."

She didn't even know the half of it. I happened to have amnesia of getting shot, yes, but I don't really think that counts when I've had this entire out-of-body experience. It was not like I could mention this predicament either which would only result in me getting held in this hospital for a ton of mental tests to be run in order to determine if, in fact, I was still sane. No thank you. I wanted out of this place right now and I voiced that to the human nurse.

"No problem," she said cheerily. "The paperwork has gone through and you can be officially discharged at your convenience."

"Thanks for…for saving my life," I said, mainly out of courtesy but it still felt really awkward regardless.

"We're just doing our job. We're just glad that we can help those who need urgent care."

Yeah right. I bet they're just glad that I can pay the bill. Where else does their income come from?

"So…" I said awkwardly. "Am I okay…I mean, is it fine for me to walk?"

"That depends. How do you feel when you walk?"

I stood up, expecting to experience a slew of dizziness and nausea, but my legs did not feel stiff, nor did my wound hurt so much. I gave my feet a few test kicks and stretched as far as I could reasonably go without agony before I gave a shrug.

"I feel fine, actually."

The nurse beamed. "Then you may leave whenever you like, Mr. McLeod."

"Thanks again, ma'am," I said, a little more graciously this time.

I turned to the door to leave, smacking my carton of cigarettes into my palm as I did so. Before I headed through the sliding door, I looked over my shoulder back at the asari. "When you said…that my credit chit had been missing. Do you think…that I was mugged for it?"

The asari gave a helpless shrug. "I'm not really sure, Mr. McLeod. It would seem like a good conclusion, given the fact that you were wounded and that it is missing. If that was the only article of value that was removed from your person then that could be a valid hypothesis. If you want to declare it missing, you can find a C-Sec officer near the security counter on your way out." The asari gave a tiny shrug – very human expression – as she sought to change the subject. "Do you need an escort to the exit? This hospital can be confusing sometimes for new patients."

"No…no, it's fine," I mumbled and headed into the hallway. "I bet that I can find it by myself."

They didn't insist and I was surprised. Most hospitals would usually press the point of wheeling their patients out to the exit instead of letting them stumble around; partly as a safety regulation and partly to keep appearances that patients are never really cured until they leave the premises. I was no longer groggy from the sedative and my wound was cooperating rather nicely (the worst sensation was a little stiffness in my stomach if I breathed in too hard, but that was the extent of my pain) so I felt that I could get myself out of here on my own two legs. I'm fiercely independent that way; never have liked others doing things for me that I know I could do myself.

The white from the hallway was blinding initially. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all made up of a smooth tile and doctors, nurses, and patients bustled around the corridor looking way busier than I was, so I made a point to keep to the side and out of their path. Fortunately, the signs for the exit were clearly marked with bright arrows and it was a cinch to find the lobby – despite the asari's statements. I managed to spot the C-Sec counter on the leftmost side between a pair of smooth round pillars near the check-in desk, but I trudged past it, still managing to take note of the salarian that seemed bored behind his post. He wore a set of gray armor, shiny and unmarred; nothing at all like the types of armor or uniforms that most soldiers wore in 2015. I made a mental note to check the date when I had the chance; I needed to know what had progressed in whatever timespan had elapsed.

I was beginning to accept the ludicrousness of the situation at this point and I thought that I would be able to handle, with some dignity, any more surprises that would come my way. Turns out, my confidence was again shattered the instant the doors to the hospital opened for me to enter the maze beyond.

I have seen dense crowds before but my paltry mind could not handle such an influx of foreign sights and sounds that I did not notice that I had frozen in the middle of the doorway. Wherever this was, it was completely _unreal_. Humans mingled in with a horde of what could only continue to be described as aliens. Tall, raptor-like aliens. Huge and lumbering aliens. There were even aliens that looked like enlarged jellyfish. All of this was in the middle of what could only be described as Times Square meets an acid trip. I mean, I'm talking about huge holographic signs in neon colors projecting advertisements for off-the-wall products mixed with the smell of new and remarkable foodstuffs that filled my nostrils, causing me to begin salivating. Even the architecture was different than what I was used to; smooth contours with shiny tiles and translucent glass coating the walls. It was indeed straight out of science-fiction.

Brave new world, eh?

Clutching my packet of cigarettes for assurance, I stumbled around, my eyes racing around the hallway trying to take in everything at once. I was whirling around in circles in stupid hospital clothes, looking very much like a dementia patient, although I was not really aware of my appearance at this time. I suppose I only looked more ridiculous when I came up to a full-size window at the edge of a crowded pathway and had the unfortunate timing to take a casual glance outside, only come to a full stop in the middle of the avenue. Let's just say that I was not fully prepared for this revelation, either.

"Fuck me," I mumbled at the infinite beyond. "I'm in space."

Indeed I was. Unless there was a way to fake the periwinkle colored nebula wisps, the collection of ships buzzing about what looked like an enormous space station, and the glint of the stars that managed to penetrate the gaseous clouds of hydrogen particles, then there was no other conclusion that would convince me otherwise. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I was starting to recall that the Citadel _was_ in fact a space station in those video games that I had played – a location that I had now inexplicably ended up in. So, I now had a firm idea of where I was in this screwed up universe. Was I reassured? Nope. I was still completely disoriented.

I scratched at my beard in contemplation as I leaned against a railing for support. Back in the universe where I should have died, space travel was a luxury afforded to either the bravest and the most qualified, or the super-rich. Now I was one of millions, it seemed like, who wandered about the Citadel like this was just a gigantic shopping mall. Space travel was apparently effortless here and I was not really unique in leaving my home planet. It seemed like I was the only person who actually seemed shocked about not being chained to a celestial body, but considering my current mindset I was one of those lucky few that got this chance for such an experience.

Damn, I needed a minute. This constant stream of discoveries was bewildering me something badly. I was liable to have a panic attack if I didn't sit down in the next minute.

Fortunately there was a bench nearby for such an occasion so I claimed that in a hurry. I reclined and openly sighed, finding my new position to be somewhat relaxing. I relegated myself to people-watching, trying to get used to the idea that I was now in the midst of aliens all around me, the names of which were starting to become familiar again. Turian. Asari. Quarian. Salarian. Krogan. I was impressed at myself for being able to rattle off those names from memory. You never know just what is buried in the deep layers of the cerebral cortex.

Of course, I had to wonder what this all meant, me being here. Was there something of greater purpose that required my intervention in this universe or was it simply by accident that I was here in the first place? Surely this couldn't be heaven as I'm almost positive one doesn't enter that domain after getting shot and revived in a hospital – it just didn't make sense. My own hypothesis was that I was in a coma back on Earth, having somehow survived my car crash, and that I was hallucinating this entire sequence of events while lying on a sterile bed in a hospital strictly run by humans and humans only. But if I was hallucinating, then shouldn't my acknowledgement of said hallucination cause the entire dream to rip itself apart simply from the questioning of logic? I decided not to dwell on it too much – I already had a nasty headache as it was and any further aggravation would simply increase my rate of descent into madness. I did not want _that_ outcome to occur just yet.

But, hallucination or not, what was the point of me being here, in the _Mass Effect_ universe? I mean, if I had a choice of where to travel, this would not have even reached my personal top five picks for a potential location. This franchise essentially depicted a universe unknowingly on the verge of a holocaust (that part I remember just fine) so I knew that a few trillion people were going to die soon from the arrival of a genocidal machine race, the exact time entirely dependent on what point of the timeline I was inserted in. You see, I'm not really a big fan of the doom-and-gloom sort of franchise. There's not that much longevity for someone like me in a place like this. I would much rather have been in a franchise like…say, _Firefly_. I've always had a thing for westerns and I would join up with those Browncoats in a heartbeat just to wear one of those stylish dusters, never mind my complete lack of combat experience – in any form. Shit, I would also have wanted to be in the _Star Wars_ universe as well instead of _Mass Effect_. _Star Wars_ has lightsabers and the Force, what does _Mass Effect_ have to offer that could top that? I have no idea how to handle a sword or a gun in a trying situation, but nixing those little quibbles, wouldn't that just be plain cool? I'm just saying… _lightsabers_.

But I was in the Mass Effect universe regardless, dressed like a resident of a senior living home, completely lightsaber-less, with no fucking clue on where to go _and_ I couldn't even share this experience or relate it to anyone else! Even if I did find a way back home to my time, who could I tell this story to and have them believe me? Why couldn't I have shared in this experience with someone else, for crying out loud? I'd prefer that my sister, Taylor, would be with me as _she_ was the one who played these games the most. She'd be the only person that I could trust in completely; she'd believe me in a heartbeat for that was how close we were as siblings. I'd even go so far as to say that she was a bigger nerd than I was (she would be flattered at me admitting that, believe me.)

Taylor was two years older than me, but we were fairly inseparable throughout our childhood. She was my height, brown eyes, wavy brown hair, and a great smile (it was only through the grace of genetics did she happen to turn out to be gorgeous, technically speaking – completely making that cliché null and void). We had the same interests and friend groups. Both of us were on the debate team and honors students in high school. All of my friends wanted to date her and there was so much interest on her end that my friends anointed me to be her unofficial spokesperson to see if she was currently taken or not (Taylor never dated guys for very long). It got a little exasperating, me practically filtering Taylor's social life, but I always maintained a glib attitude about it around her, something that she would always react with amusement to. Yeah, I really wish that Taylor was with me now.

Smiling, I rustled up my sleeves, exposing my arm tattoos, and brought out my cigarettes and lighter now that my headache had subsided a bit. I had barely lit the tip of the damn thing when someone broke out from the crowd and headed my way – a salarian, to my surprise.

"Excuse me, sir?" the salarian said politely. "I'm afraid there's no smoking on this level. You'll have to go to one of the designated areas on the station if you're going to do that."

I believe my expression was one of disgust and amazement at this point. Apparently the Citadel frowned down on smokers – which is probably a good thing in hindsight – but at the moment I was craving a cigarette something fierce, nor did I have any idea where the designated smoking areas were. In my mind, that salarian had some balls to come up to someone like me and bluntly request that I cease in my addicting habits. I know I'm not the strongest man in the world but the notion that I could snap the salarian's thin frame in half for someone like me did not seem all that unlikely.

With my opened cigarette box in one hand and the lighter in another, I made sure to fixate the alien with all of the incredulity that I could muster. At least, I hoped I looked particularly nasty. " _Fuck off_ ," I muttered as I expelled a slight puff of smoke.

The salarian seemed miffed and edged away with a look of revulsion. I didn't care. I was not in the mood for any accommodations. I had a fucking hole in my stomach that was just repaired hours ago and I'm in the middle of the biggest fish-out-of-water scenario that anyone could ever dream up so all I wanted was to deal with this quietly, by myself, and in peace. I also wanted a goddamn smoke, was that too much to ask?!

I had only dealt with a quarter of the cigarette before another shadow fell over me once again. I looked up midway from a drag and now saw that another alien, decked out in some kind of smooth combat armor, was standing just a foot away from me. This alien was a turian, I believe, based on its avian features, mottled skin, and spiky head crests. It also did not look pleased, to say the least.

"And you are?" I grumbled as I took the cigarette out of my mouth.

"C-Sec, sir," the turian said with an air of authority. Guess this was the closest thing to a police officer on the Citadel. "We've received a complaint from a citizen about a human smoking in a public corridor. I'm afraid that I'm going to have to ask you to cease otherwise you'll be levied with a fine."

I was disobedient up to a certain point and arguing with public servants was as far as I went with acting like an ass. Don't get me wrong, I still didn't like it, but at least this turian had the grace to warn me of my breaking the law before slapping a citation on me.

"Fucking Gestapo," I mumbled as I ground the cigarette out with my slipper before I flicked it into a nearby trashcan.

"What was that, sir?" the turian gave me a hard look.

"Nothing," I hastily replied. "Nothing at all." Perhaps the turian had not fully heard me or he just did not understand what the word "Gestapo" meant. I was going to have to be careful with my references when dealing with aliens. I guess that it would make sense for a turian not to be aware of the German Secret State police from the 1930s and 40s, and this turian did not give off the impression of being a xenohistory buff. This was going to have to be something that I was going to have to control over time otherwise my big mouth could get me into trouble.

The C-Sec officer, despite my relative compliance, did not seem to be quite so assured. I don't think that the hospital clothes were doing me any favors. "May I see some identification, please?"

I swallowed hard. I had no identification on me. More specifically, I had no wallet which meant that any ID card would not be on my person. No identification usually meant that I was going to be detained until my existence could be proven. That was the last thing I needed right about now.

"Um…" I stalled as I shoved my hands in my pockets. "You…you…you want my card…o-or something?"

"Just open your omni-tool, sir," the turian made a speed-up gesture. He really knew how to cut through the bullshit.

I was lost once more. What was an omni-tool again? "Omni-tool?" I asked meekly. "H-How do I… _wagh!_ "

As soon as I said the words "omni-tool" I immediately flashed back to the events of the Mass Effect games. An image of a holographic display enveloping the left arm of the wearer came to my mind's eye and at the instant I thought of such a device, my own arm lit up like it had been set ablaze and I nearly jumped out of my clothes. In the next second, I calmed down as my arm turned out not to be on fire, but to have the same holographic display wreathed around it like a long glove. I turned my hand around, inspecting the technology. I thought it was rather neat – the fact that such a tool could be activated purely through thought was nothing short of miraculous to me. Wine from water, one could compare.

The C-Sec officer was staring at me like I was hopped up on speed pills, for I'm sure that I was showing unbelievable naiveté in using what I'm assuming is a common piece of technology. He didn't press me with any more questions but instead activated his own omni-tool and held it near my own. I'm assuming that the two tools were transferring data between the other. I wondered how that was possible and where all of the necessary electronic components for the technology were located. I then had a grave feeling that the components in question were somehow wired into my brain – neural implants – which explained how I could use my mind to control the omni-tool. This was just great, now I assumed that I'm a cyborg. What other nasty surprises were in store for me yet?

"Is your name Samuel McLeod?" the officer asked me.

"Yeah," I said.

"Is your address 5302 Xebron Towers, number 1509?"

Like I had any fucking clue. "Yes," I said anyway.

The turian deactivated his omni-tool and gestured to the clothes that I was wearing. "You were just released from a hospital?"

I lifted my shirt to show him the bandages. "Got the scar to prove it," I said, desperate to lighten the mood.

"How were you injured, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Someone shot and mugged me," I said rather mildly, at least with a droll enough tone that surprised even me. "Didn't do that good of a job, though. I'm still here."

The officer seemed amused at first but then his gaze turned hard. "If you were shot, then have you spoken about this to anyone in C-Sec? Is this something that you would want us to look into?"

"I wouldn't be much help," I admitted. "I have no recollection of any part of the incident. I'm just glad I'm alive, is all I'm saying." That last part was a blatant lie, but once I started to smooth-talk, it was very difficult for me to stop.

"Well, I can understand your disorientation, sir. But just please remember in the future that there's no smoking on this level – at least not so close to a public access walkway."

"I'll try to keep that in mind," I promised. "Never been shot before so I felt like I had to calm myself down. Hopefully the other guy got it worse."

Fortunately that brought a chuckle to the turian and he jerked one of his three fingers behind him. "Well, my shift is about to end and I happen to live on the same arm of the Citadel as you. Why don't I give you a lift to your place?"

Well, an apartment meant quiet and quiet was what I needed. In fact, I was kind of curious to know just exactly where I lived in this universe. "Sure, that sounds perfect," I shrugged.

And then I saw the mode of transportation that we were going to travel in. I only hoped that my stomach would stay strong throughout the journey.

* * *

I can report that I didn't throw up during the trip over to…well, wherever my place of residence was. The C-Sec officer was kind enough to lend his vehicle, called a skycar, which did just what the name described: it was pretty much a car that traveled in the sky. Only took about a hundred fucking years for the technology to become mainstream, apparently. Anyway, I can liken the experience to riding in a helicopter, only you are traveling much faster and the engine is practically noiseless. It was weird, although my face was plastered to the window so that I could look at the futuristic buildings as we zipped amongst the stars across to another arm of the Citadel. I had no feelings of nausea, thankfully, and I tried to keep my face from looking too astonished and filled with wonderful, desperate to blend in. Yep, I was definitely travelling in space now.

The first thing that I thought when the skycar stopped on the landing pad of a building was that the officer had flown me to the wrong place. I mean, this skyscraper looked enormous yet it was decorated quite nicely. I had been living rather modestly before on a workable income so I was expecting accommodations more in that wage bracket. This looked like the fancy places that one would find in any downtown of a major city. The officer was adamant that I did in fact live here, so there was nothing else but for me to at least check the place out. There was no harm in a little exploration.

The immediate hallway from the landing pad was decked out in carpet and a nice wallpaper theme. It reminded me of a hotel, actually. There were a series of lifts nearby so I entered the nearest one but was confused at first at the lack of a number pad indicating which floor I wanted to travel to. Turns out I did not need to worry because a flashing blue beam shot out from the ceiling and swiped across my omni-tool, which had immediately activated in response to the light.

" _Now headed to floor 15_ ," the elevator chimed. " _Welcome back, Mr. McLeod_."

That was a good sign, I guess. I was heading the right way after all.

The elevator then deposited me on the appropriate floor seconds later, and I immediately found my apartment thanks to my name being imprinted in a classy font over the door. Shrugging, I stepped forward and my omni-tool chimed as I came within close proximity to the door and it opened automatically. Cautious but interested in checking out my new digs, I walked inside.

Yeah, I was now certain that there was a mistake. This apartment, while not egregiously lavish, was still too much for someone with my previous salary to have afforded. I mean, this place had everything one could need. Two bedrooms, one main and one guest presumably. Two bathrooms with showers and the like. A dining/living area with a rather large kitchen (for an apartment). There was even a balcony that looked out into the neon night where I could gaze up at the nearby nebula. Ordinarily the layout of the place might not impress some people but, bear in mind, I had come from a small studio sized apartment in Silicon Valley to this…monstrosity, for lack of a better word. The rent for this place had to be in the thousands of dollars every month, more than what I knew I could afford.

Still, I will admit that I was excited about this new upgrade, so I decided to explore the place a little more. The apartment was not devoid of furnishings, I happened to notice almost immediately. In fact, it had a very lived-in feel that made me think that I, this Sam McLeod right now, had been on the Citadel for some time prior to my impromptu "arrival." Now my best guess was that I somehow ended up in this Sam's consciousness in some parallel universe as it was the only way that I could rationalize how my presence seemed to be established here already.

In fact, the more I explored, the more assured I became at this new theory. The bathrooms were stocked with toiletries, the kitchen was full of food (most of which I was able to recognize as not being completely foreign), and the closet was lined with clothes in my size. I did take a little umbrage at the wardrobe, though. Even though everything technically fit, it seemed that clothing styles in this universe tended to focus on streamlining appearances to make them more form-fitting than what I was used to. I suppose the era of baggy clothes was over in this time. I was going to miss wearing blue jeans, to say the least.

However, my excitement was short-lived as I sat down on a nearby couch after I came to a nasty realization. I needed income in order to keep this place, and I had no idea how much money I had in my account to support myself. In a panic, I ignited my omni-tool to look for any details on my banking situation, but I kept fumbling around the user interface. Whoever designed this software should have been publicly lynched, was my initial analysis. I have seen cell phones with less complicated operating systems and the omni-tool's was just aggravating. For starters, the bland gold-orange holographic screen did nothing but hurt my eyes, and the buttons to navigate the menus were not even labeled so I had no fucking clue as to what I was doing. I could very well be ordering a few tons of opium in bulk from my rattled actions and I would be none the wiser as to what I was doing.

By some stroke of luck, I managed to open a window detailing my user settings. Evidentially omni-tools had a page where they could list everything about their host in one place (which, interestingly, did not contain any social security number for me). I found the name of my bank though, complete with the necessary login information. It took me ten more minutes to access whatever passed for the internet in this place and I entered the bank name into the ubiquitous search bar which took me to the company's home page. It was then a simple affair for me to enter my information and the corresponding materials related to my finances popped up in a jiffy.

I began choking on my own spit as soon as I saw the exact number that represented the entirety of my savings. My heart began pounding so hard that I thought I was going to pass out. Five hundred _million_. That was what was posted up on the screen and I read it thrice just to make sure that I was not hallucinating. A five followed by eight zeroes. Good Christ, it turned out that I'm a _millionaire_.

But a millionaire of _what_ , exactly? I returned down to earth as quickly as I had risen above it. I checked the type of currency that my supposed fortune was in and my omni-tool gave the type back to me as "credits." So, apparently I had five hundred million credits in an electronic bank account somewhere, but I had no idea of what credits were worth relative to the dollar. I knew that there were some East Asian countries where about fifteen million of their monies would result in that converting to only a _thousand_ dollars. I was not completely sure that this future currency followed that multiplex trend, but I knew I had to determine my real net worth before I went spend-crazy.

There was an easy way to find that out. I managed to get onto an online mall site and immediately began to browse familiar items that I could name a price on off the top of my head. I scrolled downwards and eventually came across a magazine aimed at providing lewd material for the xenophilic crowd – some publication called _Fornax_. The site was listing its price at five credits, and that was for a new issue. I knew that similar magazines back in America cost around eight dollars, so there was a bit of mental arithmetic to accomplish here. Eight divided by five was 1.6, which was the conversion variable that I wanted. I then applied 1.6 to my five hundred million credits in the bank and found out that, in fact, I had about _eight_ hundred million dollars' worth of money in my account. _Eight hundred_ compared to five hundred! The number may be lesser in real life, but its value was far greater than what initially met my eye.

There was no other way of putting it, and unless the wage gap had diminished dramatically in this universe, I was fucking rich. I was only two hundred million credits away from being a billionaire, which amazed me even more.

No way could this be hell. If it was, then I don't see how giving me a big apartment and a sizeable fortune to spend could possibly be considered part of Satan's "eternity of pain" development plan. It still sucked that I was here, but it was starting to suck a little bit less with each passing hour. Perhaps I _could_ get used to this…give or take a hundred or so years.

So, I have money, a home, and a fresh scar on my abdomen within the _Mass Effect_ universe. If this was a dream, then it was a very elaborate one. I was still not convinced that this was reality, but I had no other options but to go with the flow. Or did I? Maybe I had to do something drastic in order to get me to wake up. I did not know what else to do, but it seemed like acting erratically was a good enough bet to shock me awake if I was dreaming all of this. I just needed to simulate a slew of unpleasant feelings in order to force my mind to accept one reality or the other – kind of like having a nightmare that becomes so scary that you have no choice but to wake up. Scaring myself did not sound quite so appealing, though, so maybe if I could induce _nauseous_ sensations up to a certain intensity, it would be able to bring about the catalyst for awakening that I was looking for.

I found the solution to how I was going to accomplish that rather quickly. In a cupboard in the kitchen, I hit the mother lode. Bottles and bottles of various alcohols, liquors, and mixers were crammed into shelves just as tall as I was. Gin, rum, vodka, whisky, you name it. With the supplies here, I could make any drink that my heart desired and I felt a smile spread across my face. I was never much a partier, but I somehow found myself anticipating the wild night ahead of me.

Not to send the wrong message, but getting blackout drunk was a last resort in my eyes in order to solve this conundrum. If you were in my place, you'd understand, it's just that I would not recommend this as a solution for most problems. This just happened to be a problem that was severe enough for me to consider such extremes. I only needed to get myself sick enough in order to determine what reality I was in. The logic was that in dreams, such nauseous feelings were hampered in part to the brain not having full control over my motor systems. If I failed to get drunk, then I could pinpoint the fact that I'm dreaming and simply work the problem from there. If not, then I just had to find another way how to get out of here.

Bah, enough talk. All this booze isn't going to drink itself, you know?


	3. Couch Surfer

Ow, ow, ow. I fucked up again, didn't I?

Consciousness did not seep back to me slowly and naturally this morning. Rather, it simply decided to smack me full on in the face, driving an imaginary spike of pain up into my skull and twisting it in its place. I jolted awake with an initial spasm, but quickly fell limp as pain and lethargy held me back down on the ground again. There was loud music playing in the background somewhere; a continuous dull thumping followed by some electronic distortion – but that was not what I was focused on at the moment. I groaned for my head hurt so freaking much.

I guess I had gone a bit overboard on all those Fuzzy Navels. Laugh at me if you want but I enjoy a fruity cocktail whenever I damn well please. The only problem I faced was that I happened to enjoy them a bit too much.

Why didn't I think that getting myself this drunk would not result in anything other than a raging hangover? Of all of the things that had slipped my mind during my disorientation, one would think that the dangers of alcohol would have not been among them. I may have gone to a college emphasizing smarts but, in all honesty, this was not one of my ideas that indicated that my placement in said college was warranted. Clearly I was not a perfect representative of the academic population back from that time. Perhaps I was more visually representative of the mental image depicting a typical graduate student throughout the world: continually drunk off his ass all the time and ambling about with no clue whatsoever.

I tried to move my limbs, but my arms just pathetically dragged themselves along what I could determine was the carpet. It was then did I realize that I was not wearing a shirt as my upper torso felt a little chilly. Somehow, during the events of last night, I had apparently stripped half-naked and passed out on the floor in a puddle of my own drool. I could still feel the bandages applied by the hospital staff constricting my waist as my abdomen twisted while I tried to move. Limply, I lifted my head as the overwhelming smell of pizza assaulted my nostrils. I could barely make out a toppled stack of pizza boxes lying just in front of me, some of the contents spilling out from the cardboard, already cold.

For an embarrassing second, I could not tell where it was that I had woken up, for the hallway and bathroom did not look familiar to me in the slightest. It was only when I had half-risen on the floor (bringing a fresh slew of aches upon my head) that I realized that I was still in the apartment – _my_ apartment, technically. God above, I was still in the _Mass Effect_ universe. So much for drinking myself out of a prospective nightmare. Even in this much pain, I could still tell, based on the futuristic overtones that the apartment carried, that I was not back in California but still on the Citadel in this apartment and with a fortune to boot. Okay, I was starting to remember again (tragically). The headache alone was enough to convince me that I was not in some elaborate hallucination but in a real, tangible world. I guess if I'm being honest, there are worse places to wake up in for no good reason. I could be in a nuclear fallout-riddled wasteland instead of a posh apartment on an advanced space station. Maybe I should start being a little more grateful at my situation.

I knocked aside a bottle of gin (which was dubiously empty) as I began to crawl toward the nearest bathroom. Unfortunately, one of the side effects of me consuming so much alcohol that my body's balance and digestive system was all messed up. The livers of humans, no matter what anyone says, are not really equipped to deal with such large quantities of alcohol injected into the system. Apparently, based on the sensation of a rising lump up my throat, my liver had kindly waited until I had gained my consciousness back and signaling that my stomach was about to purge. As in _, right now_.

In haste, I scooted across the ground, my fingers scrambling at the carpet, and barely made it to the bathroom in time for me to dip my head in the porcelain bowl of the toilet and violently upchuck whatever it was that I had consumed the night before. The sounds from my heaving were horrendous, but the sensation of actually throwing up was nausea inducing to begin with. I threw up several times – my headache trying to splinter my head open with each fresh wave – and I coughed as my esophagus began to burn from the stomach acids. Once my body was finally finished, I hoisted myself up to the sink so that I could clear the foul taste from my mouth and clean myself up. I then collapsed to the ground in a fit of pain again.

I'm sure I looked completely pitiful, lying on my back and trying to right myself like an obese cat. The bandages that were around my gunshot wound were tugging at my skin, providing me yet another source of discomfort. With a grunt, I grabbed at the bandages and sloppily ripped them off, causing me to yell as the sticky surface angrily parted from my skin with a tearing sound. I chucked the dressings into the nearest garbage can. Looking down, I was surprised to see that all that remained from my previously bloody wound was a tiny, depressed crater completely covered in white scar tissue. It did not look all that bad, to be honest. I prodded it gently once again and was met with little agony. I breathed a sigh in relief – that was one seemingly insurmountable obstacle overcome.

Eventually, after some difficulty, I righted myself and stumbled into the kitchen where a fright awaited me. Apparently when I had blacked out, I did not follow the norm of being a peaceful drunk. More pizza boxes were scattered around the ground of the living room, some of the cushions of the couch had been pulled out, bottles of liquor were overturned, and in a few cases there were some shards of broken glass. Music was blaring out of some stereo system – the source of the bass pulsating that had aggravated me when I first awoke. The whole place looked like I had gone and thrown a wild party in my alcoholic haze. Jesus, what _happened_ last night?

Aside from the boxes of pizza there was no evidence that I had shared this "party" with anyone else. Also, I was a little amazed that I had managed to order pizza at all. I was still figuring out to make my omni-tool work, which was the only device that I was probably most able to order food remotely. Apparently I had gotten famished last night and that I was either, unable to find food in the fridge (curious, as last I checked, there was still provisions waiting to be consumed in there) or simply dissatisfied at my current offerings and decided to order takeout. I don't know why I ordered _twelve_ boxes of the large-size pies, mind you, so I can only assume that my drunk alter-ego does not make the best of decisions all the time.

I could not figure out how to turn off the music system (and I'm usually pretty good with technology) so I guessed that resorting to the old trick of pulling the power cord instead would work. Only problem with that was, there were no cords leading from the music player, nor were there any buttons on the face. I was desperate for this terrible music to cease, so I did what anyone suffering from a major headache and simultaneous culture shock would do: I grabbed the device, placed it in the sink, and turned the faucet on over it. The music died with an abrupt crackle of static while the water wreaked havoc with the electronics box. Whatever. I'm sure I could always buy another. Thankful for the newfound peace and quiet, I threw a blanket over my shoulders that I found resting on the remains of the couch in an effort to keep me warm as I was unable to find my shirt in the immediate vicinity.

My head was still pounding away and I was teetering in the middle of the room when a knock suddenly came from the door, startling me. So much for my peace and quiet. Apprehensive, I cautiously edged over to the foyer and opened the door, not knowing if there was some sort of peephole that would allow me to appraise my visitor. The next surprise then decided to rear its head today – and I had not fully woken up yet. I took a startled step back as I took in the sight of my visitor. A thin, gangly salarian stood at the door, his posture hunched and his hands wringing themselves in worry.

"Oh!" the salarian jumped. "Hel…hello, Mr. McLeod."

"Hello…?" I started to say when I realized that I had no idea what this alien's name was. He knew mine, so I could assume that I should know his. Yet, I was not in the mood to begin faking recognition – still a little hungover. "Who are you again?"

The salarian looked puzzled and tilted his head. "Mr. McLeod, I'm Zairn, your neighbor?"

I gave a cheery smile and a false nod of realization. "Ah, right! Sorry, Zairn, I guess I'm more tired than I thought – hardly recognized you for a moment. Is there something that I can help you with?"

The alien gave an apologetic smile. "Actually, I was coming by to see if you were actually awake at this hour. Everyone on our floor wanted to know what was going on and we assumed that you simply fell asleep. We had C-Sec over here last night and they wanted to talk to you, you see."

"Talk to me about what? My ordeal in the hospital? I thought I told the staff there that I was useless-"

"What? Oh no," Zairn shook his head. "C-Sec was not here for that and- wait…you were in the hospital?"

"Someone decided to shoot me in the stomach yesterday," I lifted the blanket slightly so that Zairn could see the scarring just in case he thought that I was lying. "Came home a few hours afterward and passed out. You were saying that C-Sec was looking for me? And for that matter, why would the neighbors be wanting to know what was going on? Was C-Sec making that big of a deal in trying to see me?"

Zairn shifted on his feet and looked a great deal guiltier compared to his initial demeanor. " _Oh_ …" was all he could say. "That is certainly problematic. If I had known that you had been in an accident, I would have persuaded the other residents from calling C-Sec on you."

"Wait, _what?!_ " I gaped. "C-Sec was _called_ on me? Why the hell would you call C-Sec on me?"

"Your music was blaring too loudly and we could not reach you," Zairn explained as he gestured into my apartment. "C-Sec tried knocking at your door but you were unresponsive so they chose to levy you with a noise complaint fine instead of breaking into your place. I had to remind the officers, actually, that forcible entry even from law enforcement is grounds for a lawsuit per Citadel regulations."

"Are you _shitting_ me?! What noise complaint? I haven't seen a form for a noise complaint." I checked at my door and around the foyer for clarification. Nope, there was no paper lying around detailing that I had performed an infraction of any sorts around the area.

"C-Sec didn't give you a _physical_ form," Zairn clarified. "They sent it to your omni-tool. Don't you know? That's how they dispense all penalties to parties that commit most offenses. In this case, since you are a tenant of this establishment and are hereby bound by a lease, the objects in question that any officer could damage in trying to deliver you a notification belong to the complex, not you, of which they would most certainly demand payment from C-Sec. That's why no one delivers paper forms these days – too much liability."

"What, are you a lawyer or something?" I grumbled, noting the salarian's choice of words.

"Attorney, actually," Zairn looked slightly miffed. "I thought you knew that as well, Mr. McLeod. And why should that be of any note? I thought you were in business law, so this should not really be all that foreign to you."

I was about to open my mouth and correct the salarian, stating that I had nothing to do with business law, but I clamped my jaw shut at the last second. Of course my career goals were not going to align here – there was not that much parallel overlap between those universes. Apparently I was fluent in business law here and not medicine. Same thing as before: go along with it.

I glared at Zairn for a second before I opened my omni-tool and clumsily navigated over to the messages application to give myself a reason for being suddenly quiet. In bold lettering, I could see very clearly the first message was from some sort of legal entity – titled " _Violation of Citadel Noise Ordinance_." Fancy way of putting that I had left my music on too loud for the entire night. Damn my drunk self. What was more annoying was the fact that this little oversight on my part was worth a thousand credits for a fine. I may have been a millionaire right now, but I had been used to being in a lower wage bracket for so long that my first instinct was to curl my lip in disgust. But in the long run, this was practically nothing to what I had saved up, even though it still hit me like a sledgehammer in the beginning.

"Well," I scowled, "that's just fucking perfect."

"I do apologize, Mr. McLeod," Zairn said as he began to back away. "We were not aware of your situation in getting shot and everyone simply assumed that you were being a neglectful neighbor. If we had been given notice that you were in a hospital-,"

"Too late for that now," I seethed as I hit the door control, abruptly ending the exchange. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

The door shut upon the salarian, freeing me from his insufferable presence. It then struck me that I had not been quite so affected by being in an alien's existence as I was the first time. Then again, for that initial meeting I had just been thrust in a foreign world and was bleeding all over a bench, which would be reasonable explanations for my initial freakout. In just the span of hours, I was evidentially now able to converse with them without completely losing my shit. Granted, I haven't been entirely civil from the past day on, but my life was one of extremes as of right now.

With a huff, I sat down to read the message and tried to wrack my head on how I was going to pay the fine. Apparently, there was a link embedded in the text that allowed me to connect with the C-Sec site so that I could link my account wirelessly and transfer the money over. Back on Earth, this would sound like a scam and I was initially apprehensive, but I was still too scatterbrained to properly research the technological "extranet" in detail as I still was unclear about where I was. Paying the fine would just have to come in time.

Looking through some more of my messages, I took note that several of them came from some sort of trading site. I was familiar enough with the lingo to know what was going on and I opened a few of the messages. My eyes scanned notifications from various monetary transactions, from some kind of stock market based on the ticker numbers and the supporting graphs, linked directly to a bank account in my name. There were hundreds of these messages, all stating that I had made sizeable amounts of money that would then be added to my overall savings. I guess I now had a clue of where my wealth came from. It seems that my future self had been playing the stock market to his advantage – thereby giving me the resources I needed to be able to survive in this galaxy.

How utterly delightful.

Well, this was a good start to a new day, wasn't it? All sarcasm aside, I'd better take a shower and hope that things become less…problematic in the near future. I could stand a few days without any unpleasant interruptions – I deserved that at the very least.

* * *

Finally, some luck at last.

Thankfully, the bathroom was already stocked with the appropriate toiletries so I did not have to fret with the prospect of procuring shampoo and soap - they were already in their usual spots. The shower itself was also quite nice; glass door with smooth onyx for the walls and floor. It even had a bench for me to sit and ponder while the water rained down upon my head! Oh, this was heavenly. It would take a monumental effort for me to leave this shower every day, count on that.

I felt like a new man when I exited the steam-saturated bathroom. Taking the shower already managed to alleviate the effects from my hangover and the hot water had relaxed my muscles. With a satin robe thrown about me, I padded into the living room and momentarily became dismayed from the devastation that I had caused the previous night. I did not see a remote for a Roomba or anything that resembled an electronic cleaning assistant so I began to pick up the worst of the debris by myself. Fortunately, the cleaning supplies were easy to find and I had done satisfactory work after fifteen minutes of bending my back to pick up astray pizza boxes – the worst of the damage taken care of.

I found the bulk of the wayward pizza stuffed into a compartment in the fridge (as I couldn't have eaten twelve boxes worth all in one night). Apparently my drunk self had still had the foresight to preserve most of the food rather than leave it out in the open, despite the fact that the steps that I had taken to do so were done quite sloppily. Guess I found my breakfast for today. Good thing that pizza tastes delicious at any temperature (go drunk Sam!)

I grabbed at the first slice that I saw – Canadian bacon and pineapple, not too bad – and munched on it while I grabbed at a water bottle. I guzzled the contents of the bottle down in seconds and immediately went back for another. What many people do not realize is that alcohol, despite being a liquid, dehydrates you something fierce and replenishing those fluids is a good way to prevent hangover symptoms. Thus, the food I was eating was slowing down the alcohol absorption in my digestive system and the water was steadily rehydrating me so that I would not collapse in cold sweats.

I added a few more pieces of pizza to a plate and sat down at my repaired couch, parking myself in front of a blank television, or whatever they called these things in this universe. There was no remote for the TV, to my dismay. I know because I looked everywhere for it, even between the cushions. Unless I had drunkenly thrown it out of the window, this television had no goddamn remote.

Oh wait, it just occurred to me. I engaged my omni-tool and tried to see if it had a function that could allow me to connect to electronic devices. Surely enough, it did and it projected a series of functions that would allow me to control the television, or vidscreen as the tool referred (to my shame, I then realized that I could have used my omni-tool to turn off my music system instead of destroying it in the sink). You can imagine my surprise, having to contend with the spottiness of wireless internet for years, that the connection that the vidscreen had with the extranet was practically flawless and in such a high-definition that I think that my eyes began to bleed. I was overwhelmed with the influx of information at my disposal: news reports, weird sports that I had never heard of, travel programs, military reports, feature films-

Wait, films? That sounded like it warranted a look. I found an online marketplace easily and I think that my face became blank in a split second. If you thought that 2015 had an abundance of films available online, words could not explain the situation adequately right now. A complete smorgasbord would be putting the wealth of options I had quite lightly.

That was just the start of the three days I spent glued to the couch. It turns out, after over a hundred years the copyrights for various franchises that were only introduced in my old universe were now null in this one, making them public domain. So, I had the entire library of fantastic movies all at my disposal for free, and also films that were released after 2015 and that I would have had to wait several years to watch but I could access them immediately here. I had enough food to sustain myself and I needed something to draw my attention away from all of the madness surrounding me. I could lose myself in movies easily enough, so I got cracking the instant that I spied the seventh _Star Wars_ movie in the queue. It downloaded in less than a second (apparently the extranet here had a speed of a couple of petabytes per second – which is unheard of to us primitives) and I remained rooted on the couch for hours on end.

A few days later, I was beginning to maybe consider the fact that my being here was not so bad after all. In the span that I had sat in front of the vidscreen, I had watched all twelve new _Star Wars_ films (plus the spinoffs), six of the newest _James Bond_ films, a couple adaptations of popular works that I had enjoyed in the past, and even the rebooted _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy (which wasn't half bad, if I may say so). And I had not even scratched the surface by any stretch of the means. There were so many wonderful looking movies out there that I could access – not to mention all of the television shows in the past that I could watch until the end, now that their runs on the air had finished. To top it off, this was only the selection of human films that I was perusing. There were still works from all of the other races out there that I was not even considering in my searches. If you think about it and consider the period of time that I had missed, that's a hell of a lot of movies to catch up on.

Then there was also the video game situation to consider. From what I had perused in the online marketplace, I apparently had the equipment necessary to utilize all of the video game media that was currently offered today. I guess the vidscreen had the necessary hardware to do such a thing (the end-to-end functionality had finally come to fruition). Titles currently being offered were _Halos_ six through twelve (good grief!), _Metal Gear Solid X_ (interesting), and over thirty unfamiliar _Call of Duty_ titles, among others. Well, I guess my social life, muddled as it was to begin with, is now over.

Funnily, I did notice that the games hub did not offer any _Mass Effect_ titles for sale. That would make sense, otherwise wouldn't that just result in a paradox by having a video game outline the entire future for this universe? Apparently those games just never existed in this reality. An extranet search helped solidify that theory even more; there were absolutely no references or even fan sites for any of the _Mass Effect_ games that I could find. Great, I did not have the best knowledge of this franchise to begin with and now that there was no way for me to confirm when any of the major plot points took place, I was basically treading water like everyone else on this damn station.

Which reminds me, what was even the _year_ here? A quick check to my omni-tool showed that it was currently 2182. That threw me for a loop. It wasn't so much the fact that I had jumped ahead a hundred and fifty years, but it was something a little more prevalent. I mean, was 2182 the accepted year for all the species? Surely a race like the asari would not be bound to a human's version of the date, so was this the year shared amongst everyone or was it just the humans who referred to the year as 2182 amongst themselves? I'm confused again; I better just hope that I don't have to give an alien the date anytime soon.

I shut off the vidscreen as I paused to think. Okay, so the year was 2182, so when did the _Mass Effect_ games take place again? I wracked my brain to come up with an answer and the best I could manage was that the events of the first game took place in 2183, only next year. Perfect, so I had a few months at the most (since the omni-tool said that it was about November at this time) to prepare for the missiles to begin flying. That was when Commander Shepard was thrust into the Reaper plot on the planet Eden Prime from the moment he touched a Prothean beacon, right? Huh, I guess I remember the timeline better than I thought. Better pat myself on the back for that.

I bet I know what you're thinking now. You're thinking that I, now knowing when and where a key event in the _Mass Effect_ timeline is going to occur (being Eden Prime), should take steps to position myself there so that I could insert myself into the narrative of the games and use my knowledge to guide Commander Shepard throughout his adventures. If that is exactly what you're thinking, then I already have my response: _are you out of your fucking mind?_

Here's where I draw the line. Commander Shepard is a well-seasoned solider, right? Probably the best that humanity has to offer. He is a whirlwind of death and destruction that comes out victorious in every skirmish, no matter how much the odds threaten to overwhelm him. And you would think that I would be fine standing by his side, weapon in hand? Let me put this in perspective: I'm a graduate student in medicine, not a trained soldier. In other words, I'm a doctor, not a mercenary! I may have some training in gun safety (I owned a pistol back in 2015, actually) but I have no hand-to-hand combat training, no experience in war, and completely zero interest in actually getting myself involved in any sort of fighting whatsoever! If I were to try and attempt joining up with Shepard and his crew, I would simply be a misplaced member on board his ship; the odd one out, so to speak. What could I possibly bring to the table that could even convince Shepard to let me sign up anyway?

I had my omni-tool open at this point and began to jot down notes of why joining up with Shepard was a bad idea. This brought me to the next issue at hand, and boy was it a doozy.

Fortunately for the value of foresight, I had managed to bring this problem to mind before I had caused harm to myself and others. I immediately dubbed such a quandary the _Back to the Future_ problem (BTTF for short). I'm sure everyone remembers that film: teenager travels back in time thanks to a modified DeLorean and, through his actions, manages to alter the course of his history thereby creating an alternate timeline that is different from the one that he traveled back to. This was pretty much the same issue I was facing now. Granted, I had no time period that I could travel forward to that would be irreparably damaged from my interference, but the _Mass Effect_ games had such a definitive endpoint for the main characters in the series. Think about it, I'm an unknown entity with knowledge of future events in a foreign universe. If I go spouting off to the wrong person, I could end up changing the course of the games and sending it into new and unpredictable territory with perhaps fatal results.

Folding my hands over my lap, I stared up at the ceiling as I began to ponder some more about what would happen if I managed to monumentally fuck up the timeline. It was interesting in the weirdest way, trying to anticipate the exact nature of events from my potential interference. So, let's say that I happened to meet up with Shepard at some point in time and relayed my knowledge of future events to him. What could realistically happen from that? My personal belief was that Shepard would just write me off as some crazy loon spouting nonsense and would simply ignore me, rendering my chances of being able to join the Normandy crew down to nil. In that case, my presence would have done absolutely nothing to change the timeline (yet it was not something I was willing to risk).

Now let's pretend that Shepard _would_ believe everything that I would say, just to humor myself. If, by some miracle, Shepard took the drivel out of my mouth as the truth (which, let's face it, is a long shot) then that would definitely create an alternate reality that I would not be able to predict, thus rendering me rather useless. From playing the game, if I happened to indicate to Shepard the destinations where his presence was most needed without him having to scramble about in confusion, then I wager that my interference in streamlining the narrative would result in Shepard not meeting key people that would have been instrumental in shaping the man's life until the end. Hell, I had the power to tell Shepard that he would even be "killed" sometime after the events of the first game which, if Shepard took my advice and managed to avoid his demise, would render the narrative passages from the succeeding games to be obsolete.

No, the correct decision is most definitely not to interfere with Shepard's affairs in any form. Creating an alternate timeline would hamper my ability to predict future events, resulting in a universe even more dangerous than it already was for me as I could not take steps to protect myself from any unpleasant surprises. I may have tried to commit suicide less than two days ago, but as you can see from where I ended up, I don't really have dying as the top goal in my mind right about now. Like, what if I was killed in this universe and I got sent to yet another universe in some sort of infinite existence-loop? I could be transported to the _Game of Thrones_ world and be beheaded within hours of arriving! For all I knew, death was not going to be my way out of here.

I'm just going to stick to the _Wargames_ mantra, thank you very much: the key to winning is not to play.

After all, I don't think my purpose in being here (if I actually _had_ a purpose) was to help Commander Shepard out with his troubles. Somehow, I think that my issues to solve here were probably significantly smaller-scale than dealing with a galaxy-wide holocaust.

I should probably write that down. On my omni-tool, I opened up a blank page and began to clumsily type on it. I managed to get a handle on the formatting with only a small degree of difficulty and titled the document, " _Sam's Rules for Mass Effect."_

I then typed in the following.

_1\. Do not get involved in any way._

Hm. Seems a little vague. I need to elaborate more on my note-taking skills. I then typed in a second point.

_2\. Do not talk about Fight Club._

Damn it, Sam! Be serious here! I erased the second line and wrote down the _real_ second point.

_2\. Keep your mouth shut about future events at all times._

That was an important one. Blathering the wrong thing would just draw attention to myself and could perhaps tip the scales for a critical moment in the games. It did not matter which moment, I just had to seal my lips and let the events play out by themselves as they were meant to. Low-key was the nature here – I was good at doing that, at least. Plus, it would also keep me out of a mental institution, so that was also another good reason.

_3\. Don't fuck anyone remotely important to the games (KEEP IT IN YOUR PANTS!)_

The capital letters were intentional. I wanted to type that last part in such a way that my attention would automatically be drawn to it. This was another point that I was sure that I was going to have no trouble following, yet it required mentioning anyway.

A pretty obvious detail, no? The logic is glaring: if I mess around in bed with someone important to the main story, like a crewmember, then I will have managed to involve myself in the narrative of the games, yet another point of possible plot contention. After all, if I happen to sleep with the wrong person, I could inadvertently prevent the canon romance in this timeline from occurring (if Shepard was actually going to woo someone in this timeline, to be specific, but better to be safe than sorry). That meant no going after that asari archeologist, that crazy bald chick with the tattoos, or that purple-suited quarian with the elaborate name. What was that quarian called again? Tara? Teri? Trisha? Richard? Whatever, it'll come to me later.

So, yeah. All ladies crucial to the plot were off-limits to me. As far as I was concerned, they were all potential partners for Shepard to go to bed with and-

Wait a second. How am I even so sure that Commander Shepard was even a guy in this universe? That's it! A major aspect of the games was that the player could choose the gender of their Shepard. Who's to say that Shepard was not a female here? _Arrrggh!_ This was so frustrating! I have to consider so many different alternatives due to the loose structure of the game's story that it's hurting my head again!

Screw it. I'm not changing the list. It doesn't matter if Shepard is a man or a woman in this universe, I'm not going to sleep with any of the characters remotely relevant to the plot! To make addendums and exceptions for the rules that I have in place would only serve to disorient me. Better to restrict what I could or could not do rather than be loose and have it backfire in the future.

I got up to refill my glass of water, taking the time to stretch my back out as I did so. I guess that was it for the list today. I could always fill in more points as they came to me. Right now, I was getting a little stir-crazy and felt that I could handle a quick venture outside. As long as I kept my cool with the aliens in my midst, I should be fine for a short walk.

The clothes I chose to don myself with looked ridiculous in my opinion, but I had seen most of the humans on the Citadel decked out in this style of slim clothing, so I didn't think I would be as conspicuous as I initially thought. I did throw on a jacket, so that was able to lend a touch of the familiar. The styles here might raise some glances back in 2015, but that was a different century, all things considered. Old school, if you want to flip back to the 90s phrasebook.

Really, I am so out of my depth here it's not even funny.

I guess I had everything that I needed to go out, yet I felt that something was missing. I went back into my room and scoured every single place that I could fathom, yet I was unable to find anything resembling the item in question that I was searching for. I even checked the other rooms before I determined that, yes, there was no firearm of any sort in this apartment.

Before you go asking me why I should care if my future counterpart did not possess a gun in his – _my_ – home, consider this for a moment. If there's one thing that I remember from the _Mass Effect_ games, it's that a fair amount of problems tend to be solved with a weapon at hand. I'm not saying that I should buy a gun to go on a shooting spree, I'm more or less referring to the fact that _Mass Effect_ depicts a galaxy in which the usage of weapons tends to be rather prevalent in society to the point that it makes every locale look like Texas during the rebellion. I'd be willing to bet that most people on the streets have guns tucked into their belts which means that it is imperative that I get a weapon of my own to defend myself. The gun laws on the Citadel at least seemed to be relaxed enough that it's employing the tactic of deterrence to be the end failsafe, as in, assume that everyone has a gun and no one will commit a crime. After all, would you be willing to accost someone that you know is armed? _I_ certainly would not.

Besides, I always felt safer knowing that I had a weapon I could access. Better not to need one and have it rather than need it and not have it. I guess that meant procuring a firearm was my shopping goal for the day. The price of such a gun was negligible, considering my vast amount of disposable income. I just needed to find a place that I could actually buy one, is all.

With nothing else to consider, I hurriedly exited through the doorway. All right, now to find a gun and avoid any troublesome encounters. How hard could that be?

As fate would turn out, the answer was _very_.

* * *


	4. Spur - Violence I

Taking a step back and analyzing myself honestly, I really do not fit the demographic in terms of disposition for gun owners. Certainly I do not adhere to the redneck sensibilities that seem to come with owning a firearm of any sort, which is why I never really made a big deal out of it in the past. The current stereotype for gun shops in 2015 is something akin to a trader shop out of the Old West, a place where bows and arrows adorn the walls while camouflage costumes hang on the racks, with rows and rows of shotguns all lined up meticulously behind a tobacco-chewing shop owner sporting a beard to make even Santa Claus blush. I always felt uncomfortable going into one of those stores; I grew up in a city, not the country, so such a style of living is practically akin to living on another planet, ironically enough.

I did not get that sort of feel from being in this gun shop, though. Instead of the rustic theme I had been expecting, the presentation of the wares in question on the Citadel was more _delicately_ handled. The style of the place was futuristic like the rest of the surroundings, but the owner here treated the items he was selling like they were jewelry or artifacts in a museum. By that I mean that glass cases were set up all around the store with weapons of every shape and size locked behind them like you would find at a diamond shop. Lights illuminated the guns like they were in a showroom and the entire place had a sleek, glossy finish to it. Standards sure had changed while I was away, and for the better, I might add.

That, however, did not mean that I was any less overwhelmed. I was expecting a rather modest collection of pistols and perhaps shotguns here like what one would find at any sports equipment store, but what I found was that this place was selling a bit more than paltry defense items. Try full-blown assault and sniper rifles out for size – at least that was what they looked like – and I quickly got the sense that I was out of my league here. People took their weaponry seriously here in the future. I wondered how this could be legal or if you needed a special permit to buy guns like that. It then occurred to me that I had not bothered to check if I had the equivalent of a carry permit encoded into my omni-tool for me to be able to actually purchase a gun. I wouldn't have the first clue where to look on there, so I simply resorted to eavesdropping to gauge if I should depart and come back at a later time with the proper paperwork or just go for it and buy a damn gun.

I elected to edge closer to the front counter, maneuvering behind a rather tall turian in line. They were wearing what looked like a black trench coat with a few modified metal flairs and it was only from the turian's reduced crest and fringes could I tell that it was a female. I did not catch the front part of the exchange between the female and the shopkeeper, also a turian. Responding to his customer's order, the man brought out a rather large shotgun and what looked like a demonic skull, but I quickly realized that it was a helmet of sorts. A rather odd and downright _scary_ helmet with an ivory colored jaw and a chromed dome. Without a word, the female handed the male a credit chit and it was quickly scanned without any other form of identification accepted. I guess that I didn't need any permit after all.

"All set, madam Grevel," the male turian gave a nod. "Thank you for your business."

The female just gave an uncharacteristic grunt and slid the helmet over her head after slotting her new shotgun over her back. The helmet's eyes blazed a fiery orange and the bottom piece of the mask appeared to move in time with the movements of the female's jaw. That was rather unsettling. Cool looking, but unsettling.

As the turian named Grevel stomped out of the shop, I edged closer to the front counter where the pistols were currently being displayed. I bent my knees and tried to see if I could discern a model I liked by sight alone. As you could imagine, I was not having much success. The models locked behind the glass were tools so futuristic that I had no idea what the pros and cons were of each type. At this point, all I wanted to know was that if they were able to shoot bullets. I eventually settled on a sleek white model near the exit and tapped the glass, calling the cashier over to me.

"You want to check that out, sir?"

"If that's allowed," I shrugged as I scratched the back of my neck, a reaction to whenever I get nervous. "To be honest, I have no idea if that pistol is any good compared to the rest of the, uh, competition offered."

"It's definitely a good one for beginners," the turian said as he ducked behind the counter, coming up moments later with a contraption that looked like it was taken straight out of _Star Trek_. "Pretty easy for a human to handle and it's sufficient for home defense. I say that because you don't look like a hunter to me." He handed the weapon to me, grip first, and I hesitantly took it from him.

The pistol itself was nothing like I had ever seen before in person. It was a lot bulkier than the conventional weapons that I was used to, but because of the lightweight metal and white plastic that made up its frame, it weighed about the same as a standard handgun. There was a secondary barrel underneath the main one – I had no idea what that was for. There was a guard for the trigger but there was also a guard for the entire hand that jutted from the grip. That was a design feature most likely intended to cater to all species as some had bigger hands than humans. The sighting mechanism was a bit more elaborate and I took a few seconds to aim down the weapon, finding that it was intended for accuracy.

The clerk crossed his arms expectantly. "Yep, that's the M-5 Phalanx, Mister…?"

"McLeod," I said as I turned over the pistol, trying to figure out where the magazine release switch was. "I know it seems like I just got off the boat here, but I swear that I'm not always this hopeless at firearms."

"Only experienced with civilian models, eh?"

I furrowed my brow. "Wait, I thought these _were_ the civilian models."

The turian shook his head. "Not exactly. These are just military models that have been modified for use by the public. This store doesn't stock the types of meager weaponry that are used solely for target shooting. All the stock you see is for home defense."

"That makes sense, I guess," I shrugged as I set the pistol down on the counter. "But I think you're going to have to walk me through how to operate this damn thing before I walk out of here with a purchase."

I think that the promise of a sale was what caused the turian's demeanor to become a little brighter in an instant. "I'd be glad to show you," he said jovially and lifted the gun up and pointed to the mechanisms. "Okay, primary trigger is within the trigger guard, obviously. Secondary trigger is down by the base. You squeeze that and then you pull the primary trigger to fire your secondary ammo."

"Sorry," I interrupted. "Secondary ammo? What is that?"

"The bottom barrel here is for concussive bursts. Completely messes up biotic barriers and will stun anyone who isn't covered by armor. Knocks them right down to the ground. That should be used if you're unwilling to take care of problems lethally."

"Makes sense," I agreed.

"Onto the main specs, then. The Phalanx is a highly accurate model, but as it is a heavy pistol, you're going to be encumbered by severe recoil unless you add some mods to it. Firing speed is 80 rpm, but you're going to get nowhere near that number before you overheat the sinks."

"That's when you reload it, right?"

"What?" the turian looked confused. "No. Of course not. There's no reloading anything. You just have to sit out the cooldown period before you can fire the gun again. It's also not like the ammo itself is finite, you'll be able to last forever on what is already in the weapon."

Crap. I forgot that the reloading mechanics were not implemented until after the first Reaper attack. Way to not look like a foreigner, Sam. "Right," I said, hoping that I sounded somewhat focused.

"The Phalanx also comes with a laser sight, activated here," the turian gestured to a hidden button. "The rounds themselves work well against armor, and you have the concussive bursts to take out barriers, but if you don't get the modification to include disruptor ammo, you're going to have a tougher time shooting at someone with shields."

Boy, did this guy know how to make a sale. He was casually talking about shooting people like it was an everyday occurrence for him. I better just buy this thing before I happen to get shot by one of the toting crazies in this place.

"I don't suppose that you happen to sell that modification, then?" I asked, making sure to bump my eyebrows upward in a savvy manner.

"Sure I do," the turian leered. "But it's going to cost you extra."

"I can live with that," I answered. "I don't suppose that there's anything else that I might want to add to the gun that you can sell me?"

"If you're just using it for defense, then I don't think I can really entice you into anything else. If you include the disruptor rounds, you'll have all the equipment needed to sufficiently tackle someone in your way if it comes to that."

"Except when they come within arm's reach. I'd guess I might have a problem then."

The clerk lowered his eyes in thought. "For that, I'd recommend having a knife on you. But you do know the dangers of carrying a blade, right?"

"Sure do," I nodded morosely. "Everyone loses if you get into a knife fight. Injury is guaranteed from all the wild slashing between two opponents."

"Finally a customer with common sense. What are you looking for in a blade of choice?"

"Oh, I don't know," I mumbled as I glanced down at the glass counter again, looking through all of the various blades and extras associated with them. "I'd guess that I'd take anything that can do sufficient damage without requiring much skill on my part."

The turian looked pleased at that. "Turns out you humans have just a tool for that purpose." He rummaged around the shelves for a bit before he produced a wickedly curved knife, the blade black as soon. "Modified blade in what you refer to as a 'karambit' style. Good for creating long, deep wounds from slashes. Not quite as effective for stabbing. Can be folded into the grip, which is modified for your hand style, and it can be withdrawn with a simple button press." He flicked the blade out for emphasis, the point shining in the bright light.

"Yikes," I said as I cupped my chin. "I would be deterred alone by the mere sight of such a thing."

"That's why this is one of the more popular items. Even us turians have adapted the style for personal use."

I glanced down into the glass case again and pointed to the knife. "I'm sold, then. You can throw in that knife with my order– along with a holster for both it and the pistol."

"Most excellent," the turian nodded in an appreciating manner. "That will be 5500 credits in total."

It took a lot of willpower for me not to choke on air. 5500 credits was a little more than two months' salary for me, but then I remembered that I was overflowing with wealth, so this was practically a drop in the bucket for me. I began to breathe normally again. Trust me, going from poor to rich in literally no time in all takes a long while to get used to.

I signed off on the receipt (and just like before, no identification was requested) and the clerk slid the weapons across the counter in my direction. I slipped the knife into its holster and fastened it to the waistline of my pants. The Phalanx I placed into a large pocket of my jacket.

Before I left, the clerk raised his hand. "One more thing. Store policy states that I have to remind you that you're not going to be able to fire that weapon for the next forty-eight hours. It's part of the safety regulation that all gun proprietors now follow since last month in that the latest software inside the gun locks up the mechanism until the stated time period has passed."

I unconsciously patted the gun that was now in my jacket. "No, I did not know that," I mused. "Why was that implemented again?"

"To deter criminals from immediately performing crimes once they get their weapons or to give an appropriate amount of time for suicidal people to consider their disposition after they purchase a firearm. It hasn't really effected sales all that much, so I guess I can't complain."

I stared sourly at the pistol in my pocket. Great, for forty-eight hours I would still be vulnerable to anyone with a weapon in hand. If was going to be mugged and shot again, I would still be unable to defend myself. I could always lock myself in my apartment for the next two days and have my groceries delivered to me before I could pronounce it safe for me to venture outside again. At least I had options to consider.

I had barely gone three steps out of the door with my new, yet currently functionless, pistol before a light on the back of my hand started pinging. I jumped, startled, but realized that it was just my omni-tool that was producing the light show and annoying sounds to go with it. I opened my tool and found that apparently, I was getting a message from a "Nathan Houser." Apparently this man's name was also labeled as " _Asshole_ " in parentheses. Great, now I really was looking forward to answering this call. Somehow, I doubt I would enjoy talking with a person that I had apparently disliked before in the past.

"Hello?" I answered, not sure if I should hold my hand close to my ear like a cell phone or that the cybernetics in my body would catch my words without me having to speak in my tool. Could I treat calls like Bluetooth devices in that they were hands-free? Culture shock is very real here and I'm not even close to getting caught up.

" _Where the fuck are you, McLeod?!_ " a raspy voice burst into my ear. This guy sounded like he had some beef with me and I was still fumbling in the dark. I was at a loss for words momentarily.

"I don't know what you're talking about…Nathan," I said, almost forgetting the man's name and tacked it on at the end like it was an afterthought.

" _Enough with the lip, you little prick!_ " Ouch. " _You said that you were only going to take four days off for vacation time and guess what? It's day five and you are not in your desk and those three dozen T-SOS reports have not been inputted into the ERP system yet, which is what you said you'd do when you got back. I've got Clusky breathing down my neck for an update on the Rider account and with your disappearance, we've gone nowhere! Our progress has stalled, clients are bombarding me left and right, IT is useless at resolving the software issues, and we've got several shipments stalled in drydock! Order batching is fucked, pal, so where the fuck are you?!"_

Geez, sounded like this Nathan Houser had a legitimate problem. I knew a potential meltdown when I heard one, but there was virtually nothing that I could do at this point. The Sam McLeod they knew was well-versed in business law but right now that is a field that I know exactly jack about. I was about as useful as a grave robber in a crematorium to them, all things considered. I just had to handle this situation as delicately as possible so that I would hurt the least amount of feelings as possible.

"Sorry," I blurted out loud. "Can't help you with that, Nathan."

You're a fuckhead, Sam. " _Delicately"_ just isn't in your vocabulary, eh?

" _Hey, wiseass!_ " Nathan bellowed. " _Just because you think you're hot shit from getting rich off the stock market while the rest of us saps have to bust our asses just to have ends meet doesn't make you above the rules of this firm! You get into this office at the end of the day or so help me, you will never set foot in another law firm in this galaxy! I know you, McLeod, and that means that you're not the type to burn bridges like this. You've always been a pain in my ass, but you're a hard worker. Don't leave me hanging like this, man_."

I was torn. What could I do? Sit blankly in front of a computer monitor and attempt to interpret documents that I did not have a clue of what they meant? Like I wanted to sit in a cubicle for the rest of my professional career. This Nathan Houser, despite knowing who I was, did not know who I am now. To be brutally honest, this was a bridge that I could afford to burn, yet I did not know how to put my line of reasoning into a form of verbal communication that would make sense to even the most observant of conversationalists.

It took a moment of hesitation, but my next move was to simply press the disconnect button on my omni-tool, leaving me to mentally move on with my life. I was never one to have some sort of smart comeback at the critical moment, especially when faced with losing a job I never even knew I had. Nathan Houser would most likely be shitting his pants on the other line, but when my current knowledge of such an industry would be more detrimental to his firm than helpful, I was actually doing him a favor, all things considered. I had no knowledge of my workplace, my coworkers, or even my job title. I know it seemed like I was being a dick, but in my head it was better to cut all ties rather than string everyone along for a lie I _knew_ I could not keep up for very long. I had the luxury of starting anew, if that was ever going to be my intention.

Having been walking and talking at the same time throughout that short-lived conversation, I'm afraid that I had made a wrong turn somewhere in my absentmindedness, because the route that I was on did not look anything like the boulevard back to my apartment. That was probably going to be a common theme because I found that I got disoriented a lot more easily as of late. Gee, I wonder why? In any case, this dark alley that I was in looked rather rapey, but all I had to do was turn a corner at the next crossroads and I could reconnect with the street that took me back to my place, according to my map application. Not too far to go, from what I understood.

Turns out I was terrible at reading the legend on my map as the next corner was over thirty meters away from where I currently was, and the atmosphere did not look any more inviting. I should have turned back some time ago but since my common sense was operating at an all-time low, I kept going. So far I had not seen any people trying to rape or murder me in the shadows, never mind a single soul at all, so I was feeling more confident at keeping my chin held high. Project an air of confidence and trouble will not pounce was my line of logic. Just ten more seconds and I would be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel around the bend. I'll be back home before I know it!

Right as I was about to turn left, I heard a high-pitched scream echoed from the rightmost side of the alley that I was approaching, causing me to stop in my tracks. My hands instinctively shot towards my gun but slackened when I remembered that the pistol still had the electronic lock on it. I also had that knife, but I was not one for getting up close and personal, despite purchasing such a weapon. I've seen way too many war movies to know that getting knifed in retaliation is not a pleasant way to go. I believe that this was the point that I began to regret buying a knife in the first place.

The screaming continued and I shut my eyes, sickened at my situation. The person in need sounded about my age, a woman, but there was nothing I could do. I had no appropriate weaponry to swoop in and save the day like a superhero. Hell, I never would have done such a thing back in 2015, so why was I considering this in the first place?

"Don't do it, Sam," I whispered to myself. "Don't get involved."

_Oh, fuck that, Sam!_ The little voice in my head yelled. _Someone might be getting killed next to you and your first instinct is to do nothing?_

"It's not my place to step in," I breathed. "That's a job for the cops."

_Like they're going to arrive in time. You're in an alley where no one dares to venture unless absolutely necessary. For all you know, the cops are never going to show._

"Then I'll run and get help myself. I'm not going over there!"

_You'll be too late. Whatever happened to the man who would stand up for a woman in need? You've gotten your ass beat before from defending women before. Granted, they were girlfriends, but how is this any different?_

"It's not that simple," I emphasized. "I'm not going to risk my neck for someone I don't even-"

" _Help!_ " The same woman cried, seemingly far away. " _Someone help me! Pleeeaaassseeee!_ "

There was a thud, a high cry, and a masculine yell of, "Shut up, bitch!"

_You're really going to walk away now, big guy?_

I grimaced, now feeling nervousness begin to seep into the soles of my feet. I pounded the nearby wall in frustration before I drew my pistol from its holster. I gave the trigger a test squeeze and found that, yep, the software still had the entire contraption on lockdown. It was nothing more than a paperweight at this point, but no one else needed to know that. There was a word for someone like me at this moment: insane.

"Fuck!" I mumbled savagely. "I know I'm going to regret this."

And, like the idiot that I am, I proceeded not to the left as I had originally envisioned, but to the right with my useless pistol out in front. As I got closer to the sounds of the commotion, the noises from the victim were making me sick to my stomach.

"Please! I didn't steal anything! I only- _AAH!_ "

"Jesus," I breathed as I heard a sharp sound of what was undoubtedly a kick. The woman started to make terrible gulping noises as the wind was knocked out of her. I gave my head a little shake and crept forward, careful not to make any sounds from my shoes on the ground.

"Don't lie to us!" A nasty voice echoed. "Where else would you get something like that unless you stole it? You seriously believe that filth like you earned that _legitimately_?"

Another kick, another yell. I was getting less nervous and more infuriated. I hated to know that an innocent woman was getting hurt. My overinflated sense of honor was kicking in here, giving me the urge to jump in and defend the helpless. In my opinion, beating a woman is one of the lowest possible things one could do. This had to end now.

As I edged around a dumpster, I could see three shapes standing over a figure huddled over the ground. Three? Shit, I only thought I was dealing with one guy. Too late, though. I'm too close to ignore this, so I'd better hope that all three of these assholes fall for my bluff. Two of these assailants were human but the ringleader appeared to be a turian. They were dressed plainly, dark colors, but their overall demeanor told me that they were used to trodding over those they considered to be lower than them. These guys needed to be put in their place.

Through the tangle of feet, I finally got a glimpse of the woman, which made me gape in surprise. My mental image, naturally, was of a human in distress but I guess I was not prepared to see a _quarian_ instead. The alien was wearing the traditional bodysuit that all members of their race wore, colored a midnight black, and her hood was a deep blood-red. That same color also appeared in vivid trails down the fabric that enveloped her body. The quarian currently lay in a fetal position, one hand raised in pleading, the other near her face to protect her visor from shattering. Even without any facial cues for me to pinpoint, I could definitely tell from her body language that the female quarian was deathly afraid.

"No…" the quarian whimpered. "No… _OWWW! AGH!_ "

The turian had given yet another kick to the quarian, this time in the chest, and took the moment when she was flailing about to stamp down on her hand hard. I could hear a crunching noise and I knew that bones had been broken. The combination of the quarian's cries and the laughter from the men surrounding her was driving me over the edge, my own survival instincts be damned. It was time to settle this.

I chose an empty bottle on the ground to bat away with my foot and announce my presence, causing the three men to turn around abruptly. "Fellas," I said, amazingly without a hint of fear in my voice, as I held my pistol out. "You'd better back away, real slowly."

There was no hammer for me to cock back, which was always a silly move that was prevalent in films, but I think that such a noise would have provided me with a bit more of a backbone. I certainly could have used a bit of assurance right now. The assaulters did not seem to be afraid, despite the fact that they held no weapons apart from a bottle that one of the humans was holding. Could they tell that my gun did not work? Did I just happen to screw myself over by doing this?

The lead turian gave a snort and a dismissive wave. "Piss off, pal. This doesn't concern you."

"Oh yeah?" I retorted with a jab of my pistol. "Well, _pal_ , this does happen to concern me. I don't like people beating up women. The fact that you three would stoop so low to do such a thing is beyond scummy. Get the fuck out of here before something happens that you'll regret."

"Really?" the turian laughed. "We're just doing our civic duty here. Suit-rats should not be allowed free reign on the Citadel. Why would a human defend a quarian, anyway?"

"Does it really matter what race she is?" Well, it was not like I had my entire lifetime to develop grudges against any of the races. To me, they were all equal. Yet that was obviously not how the galaxy saw it. "I won't ask you again."

" _Help…m-me_ …" the quarian whimpered.

The human on the right took a swig of his bottle and belched. "Fuck you, asshole. You're a pussy. If you were going to shoot us, you'd have done it by now."

I now held the Phalanx with both hands and aimed it at the loudmouth. "Call me a pussy one more time and you'll see if I have the balls or not."

My big mouth was acting up again. If I wasn't high on adrenaline, I would have known that I just fucked myself by bluffing too high.

The quarian was softly moaning behind the men and I involuntarily glanced in her direction for a split second. That was when everything went to hell all at once. The human with the bottle wound his arm up and chucked the glass in my direction, yelling " _Pussy!_ " for emphasis. I turned back at just the right moment for the bottle to smash onto my forehead and shatter, the glass slicing my skin open in several places. Blood poured into my eyes and the remaining alcohol splashed onto my cuts, creating a stinging sensation. I yelled at the terrible pain and clasped a hand to my face.

My arm that held the pistol had been pointing down at the ground while I was reeling from the first blow, and the attackers promptly forgot about the quarian and ran towards me instead.

Oh boy.

Fists suddenly smashed into my head and I dropped to a knee, my arms blindly swinging about, trying to catch one of my assailants. It was no use, though. A hail of punches battered my body and I screamed, facing the worst pain in my life. I was thrown this way and that, blood spurting out of a dozen places in my body. I expelled the foul substance from my mouth, my teeth stained a deep red, and I collapsed to the ground.

I felt fingers scrambling to pry the gun out of my grip, but I resisted and curled up into a ball on the grimy and filthy ground. That did not stop the men from laying into me as hard as they could. Kicks were substituted for punches and each blow was hard enough to create bruises. I shut my eyes and prayed that the agony would end, but an errant foot caught my nose at precisely the right angle and it broke with a horrid noise, causing me to cry out in pain. Blood gushed in a torrent down my face as my nose jutted at an awkward angle. My entire face felt numb and I felt like I was about to black out. My eyelids felt swollen and heavy, my lungs ached, and my body throbbed.

Well done, Sam. Another idiotic blunder to add to your ever-growing resume of fuck-ups.

A foot drove itself into my back and I arched in pain, only for another foot to sink into my stomach, driving the wind out of me. As I doubled over and coughed, the turian's fingers made another grab for the pistol in my left hand, only this time I was in no shape to properly mount a defense. The alien twisted the pistol violently and two of my fingers broke, but I barely felt it. The gun was now in the hands of my attacker while I bled in this godforsaken alley. All three men backed away to give the turian some room. I spat out a red string of drool, slowly trailing my head up to face the dark barrel of my own Phalanx, cradled in the hands of an out of breath turian while he bore down on me.

"Surprise, asshole," the turian cackled as he pulled the trigger, but his face quickly changed from gleeful to confused as he attempted to fire the gun, only to realize that the firing mechanism had been locked this entire time. The alien shook the weapon in his hands, desperate for it to work, while I slowly brought my right hand underneath my jacket, towards the side of my waist.

I gave a tiny laugh, watching the turian grow more and more frustrated as the pistol failed to fire. Guess the bluff worked in some small measure after all. " _Surprise_ ," I breathed as I slid the black knife from its holster and, with a surge of fresh energy, raised myself up off the ground and slashed at the turian's side with a quick movement.

The alien gave a howl as the cold metal pierced his skin underneath his flimsy shirt, creating a ragged tear that immediately gushed hot blue blood. I did my best to turn the blade within the man's body to cause him more pain, and I withdrew the knife before it became too agonizing for me to sit up. As I viciously jerked the knife away, the now blue shining blade caught the turian's hand that held my weapon during the backswing, and came into contact with two of the man's fingers. The Phalanx bounced to the ground, along with the severed digits to ooze blood all over the ground, while the wounded turian screamed and moaned, hastily retreating with his buddies. The trio skirted down the alley and took the nearest corner, frightened that one of their own had gotten seriously injured. I guess I was no longer on their chopping block for the day.

Groaning, I gingerly felt my face after I placed my gun and knife back into their holsters. My fingers came away dark red. Yeah, that was not a good sign. Half of my face felt sticky, my beard was caked with blood, and I knew that there were several bones in my body that were broken. So this was how being hazed at a fraternity felt like. The thought was so inane that I could not help gurgling out a dismal laugh, only to be cut short by the soft crying of the quarian behind me. I had almost forgotten about her.

"Christ… _Almighty_!" I bellowed as I hastened to stand up, only to be met with a fierce headache. Nails! It felt like nails were being driven into my skull! I gave up on trying to stand and crawled over to the quarian instead.

I found myself staring for a bit. The quarian was unlike any other alien I've seen up close, mostly because their race were restricted to form-fitting enviro-suits due to their weak immune systems, completely masking their faces and expressions. They were of similar build to humans, but they only had six fingers and toes in total compared to our ten, their waists were severely thinner, and their legs relied on digitigrade locomotion instead of plantigrade in humans. Because of the suit, though, I could not immediately tell where the quarian was injured, but from the way she was clutching her chest I could guess that she had a broken rib or two. Her dark red visor was still intact, and I could see the faint outline of a nose and two glowing eyes through the smoky glass. Much of the fabric that draped her form was in tatters; she looked pitiful.

" _H-Help…_ " she coughed. " _Help…m-m-me…_ "

The quarian looked to be in a bad way, so I engaged my omni-tool and shouted for it to find me a clinic. Fortunately, it indicated that there was one just a couple blocks down the way. There was no time for an alert to be processed if I knew that I could accomplish the job quicker, despite my injuries. Gritting my teeth and hoping that I didn't black out from the exertion, I lifted the quarian by placing her upper body and the back of her legs atop my arms in such a manner that they did not aggravate my broken fingers. My knees wobbled as I straightened up, but I did not drop her. With the taste of copper in my mouth and my own blood fusing half my face shut, I began the slow stagger out of the alleyway and into the streets of the Citadel.

It must have been afterhours or something because the pedestrian walkways were completely deserted. I was the only soul traversing them while carrying a quarian in my arms. I was huffing and puffing; sweat mixed with my blood in rivulets down my face. My vision was beginning to turn red; my body could not take more abuse.

"Who…" the quarian stirred, "…who…are…?"

"Save your strength," I shushed her. "Don't try to talk." However, I caught a pleading glance from her milky eyes underneath that visor and my expression softened somewhat. "Call me Sam," I whispered, trying to get her to relax.

"N…Ny…Ny…" the quarian tried to speak but she gave a tiny groan and fell limp. Alarmed, I tried to hurry my limping pace, ignoring the new ache that decided to flare up in my legs. I was searching for that big red cross, like it was a beacon of light guiding me on my path.

I did not notice the exact moment when I passed through the sliding doors to the clinic, nor could I feel the nurses gently taking the body of the quarian from my arms, leaving me to wheeze at the relief thankfully. Someone waved a flashlight in front of my eyes and dabbed at my face with a cloth, turning it bloody in an instant. I tried to mumble my way out of being interred here, but I was forcibly, yet gently, lowered into a stretcher.

The last thing that I remember is a slight prick on my arm and a needle gently withdrawing away from the area. At that moment, all I felt was exasperation and a sense of disbelief.

They just sedated me. Motherfucker.

"Not…again…" I slurred before the unwanted blackness swallowed me up.

* * *

Thankfully, I was not sedated as long as the last time.

My shirt was the only article of clothing ruined from my blood but I was still able to wear my jacket and pants. I was only out for half an hour and awake in forty-five minutes. No surgery for this go as there was minimal repair needed for my wounds. When I had awoken, the staff had given me a tablet listing everything that they had done to fix me up this time around so that I could review the procedures myself.

The list revealed a brutal assortment of injuries, to my shock. When the bottle, the first blow of the night, had smashed against my head, it had left glass splinters in my forehead. Those had to be pried out with tweezers and the wounds were sealed with medi-gel. In fact, medi-gel was used for pretty much every injury that I had accumulated, from my bruises to my broken bones. My nose had been realigned while I was out and fused with a direct injection of the miraculous stuff. It was as good as new now – no disfigurement or any scars. Hell, apart from some soreness, it did not feel that I had just gotten my ass whooped.

A couple officers from C-Sec had walked into my room just after I had woken up and asked me all the usual questions pertaining to identifying my assailants. I answered their queries as best as I could, yet I don't think the information I gave them was helpful enough to them in any way, yet they seemed grateful for my cooperation. They had left me in peace which was when I had started to look over the results from my operation.

I soon set the tablet to the side and hopped off the bench in the sparse room, making sure to zip up my jacket. A doctor with a somber smile entered the room just as I was lacing up my shoes.

"Leaving already, Mr. McLeod?" he asked.

"Something like that," I replied. "I'm not really content to stay in one place for very long if I can help it."

"No severe pain? Nothing too debilitating?"

I lifted my arms several times to test them and stretched my body a bit. "Not that much, actually. You guys did good work."

"Well, I'm glad for that," the doctor said, relieved. "Although it would be remiss of me not to mention that you should take it easy for the next couple days. Your bones are technically all healed up but it would be best to play things safely until your body recovers from the trauma."

"No need to tell me twice," I gave a nervous chuckle. "After what happened today, I don't think I'll be going outdoors ever again."

The doctor gave a smile and pointed to my abdomen, dismissing my glib comment. "I noticed that you appeared to have a recent scar on your torso, one that looks to be consistent with a gunshot wound."

"You would be correct. I guess I haven't had the best of luck lately."

The man's face was sympathetic. "Perhaps your string of bad luck ends here. For both our sakes, I do hope that this will be your last visit to a hospital in the near future."

"You and me both, buddy. You and me both."

Personally, I doubted such a thing.

I grabbed my items from the table and made sure to fasten them to my belt. The doctor accompanied me as I left the room and proceeded down the hall to the exit. "Did C-Sec put you through too much of a hassle?" he asked.

"What about?"

"About the people that attacked you, I mean."

I gave a shrug as we rounded a corner. "Not that much. They were actually very accommodating. Because the alley where I got attacked was pretty dark, I was not able to make out their faces quite so well. I don't know if I gave them enough information to find the people responsible, but I do know that I helped them to the best of my ability."

"Well, if you want my opinion, I'd suggest staying clear of the place where you were brutally assaulted. Those were some nasty wounds that you received."

"And again, I'm thankful that you patched me up," I indicated towards the doctor. "I'm able to walk away with nary another scar, all because of you and your staff."

The doctor's expression turned grave. "Yes, but unfortunately, the quarian you brought in was not so lucky. Here, let's make a quick detour."

The man indicated towards a hallway opposite the exit and I dutifully followed, interested to hear what he had to say. We proceeded down the corridor for a couple dozen paces before we stopped right in front of a large window. The doctor gestured me to glance inside but I was not quite sure of what I was supposed to be looking at. A set of white curtains was positioned in front of the window, completely obscuring the view inside but I soon noticed that a silhouette from a figure lying on a bed inside the room was being projected against the curtain quite firmly. The shape was small and slender, humanoid, and then I knew that I was looking at the quarian.

"Is…" I gestured. "Is she…?"

"Dead?" The doctor finished before he gave a shake of his head. "No, she is not. She is just resting. We had to remove her suit so that we could operate on her, though, and her body's recovering at the moment. She's still in her twilight sleep from the sedatives that we gave her – but she's still unmasked. It's a clean room, so there's no risk of her getting an infection. We put the curtain up for her privacy, you understand."

"Wait, _operate_?" I did a double-take. "What kind of operation are we talking about here? I assumed that because of her disoriented state and repeated lapses of consciousness that the worst she had gained was a concussion. A few broken ribs maybe."

"You seem to have some knowledge of these things. Med student?"

"That obvious, huh?" I scratched at my beard.

"Not that many people even know some of the symptoms of a concussion, much less are able to diagnose one. To answer your question, the quarian did have a concussion, most likely from a kick to the head that corresponds to a bruise we found at a potential impact site on her scalp, but that was not the worst injury that we discovered."

"Go on," I said, now feeling a bit nervous.

"The quarian had multiple broken bones, including a cracked tibia and some crushed digital bones. Those we repaired easily with medi-gel, but we first discovered that she was having difficulty breathing when we brought her in the emergency room. We took a quick X-ray and found something terrifying. Apparently, one of her ribs had indeed broken when she was being beaten, but it had splintered in such a way that it had been driven into one of her lungs, puncturing it and causing it to partially collapse."

"Oh _Christ_ ," I muttered as I ran a hand through my hair. "Traumatic pneumothorax."

"Precisely. As you know lung collapses can be fatal if not treated immediately. The quarian's blood pressure had fallen dramatically by the time we wheeled her in, which was an obvious indication that something was wrong apart from the impaired breathing. We had to make an incision in the skin as we could not reach the wound itself via the esophagus and sealed up the tear in the lungs while she received secondary oxygen." The doctor turned toward me, his face utterly serious. "There's no question about it, Mr. McLeod. If you hadn't intervened, that woman would be dead."

My head slowly rotated and I could feel my eyes widen dramatically. My chest tightened as my brain took a long time to process those words. "You're…you're quite sure about that?" I whispered.

"Absolutely. The quarian is _alive_ now, thanks to you. It's only…are you all right, sir?"

"I…I…" I stammered as I raised a shaking hand to wipe the sweat off my brow. I felt clammy, like I was going into shock. "I just need a moment…to process this."

Oh. My. God. It had not occurred to me before, nor did it hit me until after the fact. How could I have been so stupid? Why did I not see it coming?

What have I _done?_ What did I just do? Holy shit, I just changed someone's _future_. I saved someone who would have _died_ without my involvement. By walking into that alley, I diverted all of the attention from the attackers onto me, and I drove them off. That quarian was meant to have died in that alley last night – beaten to death by a bunch of thugs - and I just altered the course of events.

Abruptly, I wheeled about and shuffled towards the exit of the facility. I could hear the nervous click of heels on tiles from the doctor as he tried to catch up to me. "Mr. McLeod, is something the matter? You look progressively worse than usual. Do you want to stay here for a little longer and rest?"

"Absolutely not," I snapped, my own lungs now feeling like _they_ were the ones that were punctured. "I _don't_ want to stay here any longer. But, can you do me a favor, doc?"

"What is it?"

I pointed back to the room where the quarian was resting. "Do _not_ , under any circumstances, mention to her my name when she wakes up."

"Sir, you understand that I'm obliged to doctor-patient confidentiality but in this case, I'm a little confused as to you not wanting the quarian to know exactly who saved her. I would guess that such a fact would be the first thing she will ask for when she regains consciousness."

"Trust me," I hissed. "It will be better for everyone if I remain as anonymous as possible. Give her my first name if you must, but do not utter anything more than that. Promise me this, doc. Please."

The doctor swallowed hard, a noticeable lump traveling down his throat. "As you wish, Mr. McLeod. I will not say a word to her."

"I appreciate it," I said as I shook the man's hand. "Thank you for your assistance in the matter."

I could not get out of the hospital fast enough. As soon as I exited the doors, I felt immeasurably sick once again and I knew what was coming next. I double-timed it over to a nearby waste receptacle and bent my head just in time for me to vomit into it. I could hear disgusted noises coming from passerby, but I was too engrossed in puking my guts up to care. As soon as it ended, I slumped onto a bench, that terrible feeling of dread causing my skin to prickle uncomfortably.

I _hated_ throwing up. Hated it! Yet this was the second time in a week that I had done it. I just felt so sick at this point, of thinking that I had done the right thing and having it blow up in my face. It was a horrible sensation, one that rooted me down on the bench for me to wallow in my misery.

Regret. That's what enveloped me. Just that sinking feeling of having screwed up so horribly that I found it hard to do anything else. I mean, for god's sake, Sam, you promised yourself that you wouldn't get involved in anything at all! Apparently I had a lapse of judgment in thinking that avoiding the main plot of the games would be the limit in terms of my participation. Well, now I've gone and done it by saving the life of a person who would have died in this universe otherwise. I should have planned this more thoroughly! What if that quarian was going to somehow be critical to the main plot, now that she didn't die? I could have fucked over everyone just from that simple act. Shit!

I felt like I was going to throw up again, but I didn't. Instead I sat on the bench for a little while longer, once again pondering if all I would ever do was to interfere with the narrative and mess everything up. If that was the case, then I should just do the honorable thing and make a second attempt at killing myself so that I don't end up disrupting anything else.

But there was still the flip side of the coin. Maybe that quarian's survival would do nothing to dramatically change the future. Maybe I would have a lucky break, but I would never know the definitive results of my work unless I saw them through until the end. Now I had a good reason to live, one that combated the desire to commit suicide head-on. Unable to come up with a definitive argument for offing myself again, I begrudgingly began to shuffle back home. I guess I could hang around and witness the fruits of my labor.

All this thought about suicide was giving me another headache. I needed a nap to clear my head and rest my stomach. I could use a smoke as well.

I'm just the embodiment of optimism, am I right?


	5. Middling Xenophilia

The day started out in a rather subdued fashion for me. I had finished washing my face in the sink after taking my regular morning shower and blindly groped out for a rag so that I could dry myself off. The padded fabric felt nice against my tender skin and I groaned as I pressed the cloth deeper into my face. With a grimace, I shook my shoulders like a dog to get rid of the kinks that the shower had not been able to eradicate and looked at myself in the mirror after I had finished clearing the mist off from it.

I had certainly seen better days, I can tell you that right now. On the other hand, even though it had been three days since I had been beaten up, the wounds that I had acquired looked like faint marks at this point – all thanks to the natural wonders that was medi-gel. One of these days I was going to have to look up exactly what was in that substance that caused any and all wounds to heal miraculously. The medical portion of my brain was fascinated by it, yet simultaneously disappointed at how easy the jobs of doctors had become in the future. Knowing the course of most medical discoveries, I would have to wager that the active ingredient in medi-gel was probably something incredibly addictive and poisonous to anyone's body otherwise. Kind of like the relationship between opiates and heroin, in a sense.

My bruises had faded completely, my broken nose and fingers felt as good as new, and even the frightful gashes that had been caused from a liquor bottle being broken upside my head were faint lines at this point. I prodded my face gently, testing my injuries to see if there was still any residual damage. A quick check produced no worrying results, so that was something at least. No reconstructive surgery for me, thankfully.

So why didn't I feel so glad at that?

"Oh, I don't know, Sam," I spoke to my reflection in the mirror. "Maybe it's because you saved the life of an alien who was supposed to have died in this timeline? Yeah, that might not have been one of your best laid plans there, buddy."

" _Quit your bitching_ ," my reflection scoffed in a taunting manner. " _You made your choice and now you have to live it. You better grow the fuck up because you're acting like a child. You saved someone from death. Period. Where's the shame in that?_ "

I backed up a step and pointed a finger across the way. " _You_ don't get to dictate my life. Who knows if that quarian will bring more harm than good to people? What if I've just indirectly sealed the fates of an exponential amount of people? I could have just fucked everyone in this galaxy from my mistake, so don't pretend that I don't have to worry."

" _Mistake? I can't tell if you're being serious or if some part of you wants the worst to happen so that you could prove yourself correct. You actually think that one quarian is somehow going to undo an intricate series of events that required multiple individuals to pull off?_ "

"Don't forget," I grimaced at my distorted and foggy doppelganger, "it only took one person to save this galaxy from extinction. One. Out of trillions. And one person can fuck all of it up. Anything could happen at this point and if the worst should come to pass, then it will be all my fault."

" _Now you're speaking like you actually have a claim in this universe. I thought you were not invested in your little reality-swap?_ "

One of the cons of speaking with myself was that both of us could play the logic game. I knew that I could not mount a sufficient defense in such an argument, least of all from an omnipresent offshoot of a mind seeking a conversationalist to engage with. My only retort against myself was to simply give a scowl, turn my back to the bathroom and flip the mirror off as I departed.

Oh yeah, Sam. That'll show him.

I had thrown a robe around me at this point and I walked into the kitchen before I got myself dressed for the day. The chronometer was indicating that it was approaching the early afternoon on the Citadel (apparently I had slept through breakfast), but the confusing thing was that the time zones on the Citadel did not correspond to the twenty-four hour cycle that was present on Earth, which had been and is still a source of bewilderment for me. Apparently the standard measurement of time was known as a GSD, a Galactic Standard Day, and that it only lasted for _twenty_ Earth-hours on the Citadel, thus causing my sleep habits to slowly shift my resting habits bit by bit across the days. Not so much jet lag but _galaxy_ lag, if you will. This had been a growing problem recently but the only thing I could do to modify my sleep pattern was to tough it out and let my body adapt a day at a time.

Anyway, since I was now up and had properly missed my favorite meal of the day, I guess there was nothing to do but to forge my own path. The best thing about breakfast is that it can be made at any hour of the day. That's one of the benefits to living by yourself, no one can tell you what to do. I proceeded at my own pace and prepared myself a pair of eggs, over hard, and some toast. I coated the eggs with shredded cheese and heavily buttered the bread. To top it off, I got myself a glass from the cupboard and poured myself some whisky, not orange juice, because why not?

Breakfast of champions.

I quickly demolished my food, leaving me to sip at my drink. It seemed to suit the current picture of me: recently battered single working man drinking alone. At least I knew my relative limits. I took too big of a swallow and made a face after I gave out an exaggerated gagging noise. Trust me, _everyone_ is wincing when they down hard liquor. We've just learned to control our facial expressions better over time.

Still cradling my drink, I got up from the table that I was eating at and headed over to my room so that I could dress in some real clothes instead of just a robe like a bum. I shrugged the loose garment off as I crossed the threshold, leaving it to puddle at the floor. As I approached my bed, I slowed my pace and held my glass in both hands as I sourly looked down at the object that currently was making a tiny indent upon the soft comforter. With a slow snort from my nostrils, I set my whisky down on a nearby desk and gradually sat beside the Phalanx pistol that was precariously close to slipping off the edge of the bed. Before that could happen, I scooped it up from where it had been laying and held it in my hands almost reverently, like it was a prayer book.

I knew that the forty-eight hour block on the gun's firing mechanism had been lifted by this time and that it was as deadly as any other pistol right now, but somehow I was not assuaged. I picked the weapon up and fitted my finger nicely on top of the trigger. The grip felt really natural, the weight was just right. Make no mistake, this was not some trinket to be bought and looked at, this was a deadly instrument of murder and I had to respect it. If the safety were not on, I could put a bullet through the wall just by clenching down on the trigger, potentially killing someone. Just like the projectile weapons of my time, only a hell of a lot more deadly. Oh, if only I had this capability three days ago when I was getting my ass handed to me, then I suspect that I would not have had pieces of glass embedded into the skin of my skull. Timing is everything, right?

Even though I was doing my best to be appreciative of the power I currently wielded, I was being constantly thrown off by the fact that it looked just like a movie prop with the white plastic, silver finish, and little blue lights on the sides. What was wrong with coloring this thing black and making it look a little more rugged? The media in 2015 had pretty much ruined me with regards to visualizing violence and to come here and see the populace utilize guns that looked straight out of a crappy sci-fi television show was not giving me a sense of danger at all. That was a problem, for if I did not start taking things seriously then I could wind up being brutally assaulted again or worse.

Quite the situation that I'm in, and the logic stands. I _should_ be more respectful of my surroundings. I _should_ take my predicament more seriously. I just need to keep at the forefront of my mind that, even though I'm armed now, I'm not invincible. I'm nowhere near being a one man wrecking crew, I can tell you that. I've owned guns for years and have never experienced any trouble with having one in my possession before. Same rules here, really. Just act smart and stay away from any places where conflicts could arise and I'll be fine. Common-fucking-sense.

Now I was really pining to share this experience with someone besides a decent therapist. All of this was way too real for me to keep bottled inside. Where was Taylor when I needed her? She was a great listener and way smarter than me, if I'm going to be honest. If the two of us were tackling this problem of surviving in this foreign land together, I'd reckon that we would be an unstoppable force in the _Mass Effect_ universe. Alas, it's just me here. The one who got the shaft.

I've heard a lot of sibling horror stories before but Taylor was probably one of the best sisters one could have. Always good memories with her, never bad. The bond we had as family was as strong as one could imagine and I don't think anyone other than our parents understood that well. Actually, I bought my first pistol shortly after Taylor left home, for protection in the wake of her absence, you see. The point being, it was always nice having a protective older sibling constantly watch your back all the time and have them share the same interests as you. The gun was just a paltry substitute for an assurance of safety. If she knew that I was experiencing this whole _Mass Effect_ episode, she would be absolutely jealous of me, livid with envy. Heh, I could kill to see her face right now. Also, I could kill to swap places.

In fact, those were some of the best memories from my previous life; whenever I was with my sister. Towards the end of high school for Taylor, I would constantly be hanging out with my group of friends and Taylor's group of friends, essentially combining everyone into one giant group, and just going around town and shooting the shit, as the saying goes. It was probably convenient for everyone that the most recent guy she was dating at that time happened to be my best friend, a good guy called Mark. He had the coveted spot among my peers as the one who was dating Sam's hot sister. Christ, they would never let me get over that.

I'm not going to lie, I missed that group terribly. We had all grown so far apart over the years in such a short time. How had that happened?

I mean, I could still vividly picture in my mind going to a gathering at Mark's house, stealing liquor bottles from his parents' cabinet and roasting marshmallows over a fire pit in his backyard. I could hear the music blaring from a pair of crappy speakers almost as if it was pathetically urging a group of awkward teenagers to get up and dance to whatever Top 40 Hit was being projected at the time. And, since we would most likely be drunk, we took the bait that the music offered. Guys and girls paired up on a makeshift dance floor, the laughing became raucous, and more liquor was consumed. The fact that said liquor caused most of the partygoers to throw up due to overindulgence, including me, was just a minor inconvenience compared to an entire night of fun.

And as usual, because Taylor was one of the few sensible people of the group, she would roll her eyes, kiss her boyfriend goodnight (eliciting eye rolling from my end) and promptly take me home, eliciting some half-hearted whining from me in the process. The way I see it now, Taylor was not being a killjoy, she was just really observant about my drunken self and knew when to stop before I did. Like I said, she's the smarter one.

Why couldn't things go back to the way they were before? Hanging out with my friends back home never failed to bring me happiness – something that I would give anything for in order to relive. Alas, I was stuck in a universe where such encounters with my peers probably never even happened to begin with. I had to contend with what was ahead of me all by myself and yes, thinking about all this definitely made me feel a lot worse.

My expression having been unchanged throughout my reminiscence, I shook my head to loosen up my frozen facial features. I then deposited the Phalanx back onto the bed and swiftly got dressed, but there was still the need to rid myself of those distracting thoughts linking me to my past life. I had whisky, which I knew would help, but I still needed another part of the equation for me to lose myself in. Drinking usually needed an accompaniment for the process to be truly effective. I just needed to figure out a suitable pairing.

Movies! Yes, of course, I'll just watch a movie from the billions of choices that I had on demand. Losing myself in a world completely separate from my own via parking my ass in front of a screen was a sure-fire way to turn off my brain in order to achieve immersion. Fortunately, I had an idea of what I wanted to watch this time and found my chosen film very quickly. I was starting to get used to this user interface on my omni-tool, come to think of it.

I wondered if _Avatar II_ was an improvement upon its predecessor.

* * *

Once my mind had been reset by watching a medium that did nothing to engage my brain cells, I felt sufficiently more relaxed now that I was not concentrating on my current stressors. On the other hand, since the film that I had just watched had gone over three hours in total running time, it was now approaching the early evening for the Citadel. Waking hours for the night owls. I was a tad bored of watching any more movies and now that I had a gun that could actually provide me with a modicum of protection, I guess I could stand a little personal interaction, all things considered.

I did not want to venture too far, but luckily my omni-tool was indicating that there was a very popular bar about a five-minute walk away from my apartment. Apparently it was large, hip, and catered a wide array of alcohol for its clients of various races. Sounded good to me. I strapped my pistol to my waist, threw on a leather jacket to give these skintight clothes some element of bagginess and headed out at a brisk pace.

It was easy to find the bar, seeing as the entrance was reverberating from the bass hits of dance music and the strobe lights flickering all over the front doors. Not really the most conducive bar if you were seizure-prone or particularly anxious in social settings. It was still early in the day where a line had not formed yet outside so I got by the bouncers rather quickly after I showed them my identification and paid the cover fee. As soon as I entered, the resulting presentation caused me to immediately have flashbacks to every single science-fiction cantina scene in every single movie ever.

How can I describe it properly? For starters, neon lighting wrapped around every single corner and curve of the architecture, creating a very chaotic and dream-like atmosphere. Lights strobed, and red and blue tiles gradually warmed and cooled in time with the beat from the speakers. Already I was feeling drunk from staring at the place. A lovely fountain was spewing water in a pool filled with fish which gave a very classical touch to an overall modern establishment. In this case, the melding of the two styles worked and I was actually able to appreciate the atmosphere. It really did feel like I was in a futuristic bar that did not seem at all campy.

Then there was the clientele that threw me off. I have seen all the species of aliens before when I was wandering around on the Citadel, but to witness all of them interacting in such an environment was quite the experience, let me tell you. Humans and asari were tearing up the dance floor, two krogan were engaged in a hearty exchange, turians and salarians sat reclined in their plush booths, and the hanar bartender's tentacles were a blur as it fixed drinks for multiple customers at once.

I scratched at my head in wonderment. " _What in the name of all that is holy…?"_ I whispered to myself, clearly overwhelmed.

Now aware that I was clogging up the entrance for the people behind me, I nervously shuffled around, trying to take in everything before I went up to order a drink. I tried to look inconspicuous as I people-watched but I think that my constantly gaping mouth was probably drawing a bit more attention to myself than I would have liked.

A rather macho human male, sweaty from dancing, slid past me and slipped into a booth occupied by another human male and two asari, my gaze following him. I was not prepared for what happened next because the two men immediately scooted next to each other and began to kiss passionately. I blinked in surprise. Did I not read the description of this place right and had somehow ended up in a gay bar? Well, no, I don't think that it was because the men then broke off and then began to make out with the two asari in the booth, all four of them engaged in some bizarre make-out session that looked way more touchy-feely than I had been subconsciously expecting. I'm pretty sure that their hands were grabbing at places most people would not normally dare to venture out in public.

"Huh," I said as I gave a shrug. "Don't really see that every day."

Apparently I was going to see a lot more of it because as I focused my attention around the room, I could see several partners hooking up in my midst. I saw heterosexual couples, homosexual couples, and many interracial couples all trying to slide their tongues down their partner's throat.

Maybe everyone was just bisexual in the future.

The implications of this entire ordeal were positive, at least. Taking into account the level of tolerance people gave in regards to sexual orientation here must mean that the stupid rule regarding the treatment status of same-sex partners had finally been resolved and that such pairings were allowed in this point in time. That signified that this future was actually rather progressive in the fact that sexuality here was not that big of an issue as people made it out to be back where I came from. I had no problem with people of a sexual orientation different than mine before and I did not have a problem with it now – it was just a little surprising to see people so open about it when homo and bisexuality was just starting to become more widespread with its acceptance, at least in America.

I backed up a little bit and collided with a nearby patron. I spun around quickly and came face to face with an armored turian, a cop judging by his badge, attempting to keep the contents of his glass all in one place.

"Whoops," I hastily said. "Sorry about that, officer."

"It's no problem," the turian waved off. He had blue face paint marking his features and one of his eyes was covered by a piece of blue glass that looked like a futuristic eyepatch. A targeting eyepiece perhaps?

"What, they let you guys drink on duty?" I asked as I pointed to the glass.

The turian chuckled. "I'm off duty, actually. We're people too, you know? I probably should take the badge off if all it does is make people nervous around here, though."

"People don't like C-Sec in bars?"

" _No one_ likes C-Sec coming in anywhere," the turian shrugged as he gave a grand sweep with his arm. "It's the first reaction anyone has when they feel that they're under scrutiny. Whenever a cop or a detective walks into an establishment everyone suddenly gets all paranoid like they did something wrong."

"Yeah, like following the speed limit on the highway with one of you guys tailgating me, hoping that I'll slip up," I muttered.

"What's that?" the turian tilted his head.

"Hmm? Oh, nothing," I corrected. "Just talking to myself."

"Right," the turian squinted his eyes, unconvinced. He drained his glass and set the empty container on a tray that a passing waitress was holding. "Can't really spend the entire night drinking here. At any rate, I should probably head off. Have a safe night, sir."

"Of course," I nodded as I focused on the turian's badge again for a name. "You too, Detective…Vakarian."

I swore I knew that name from somewhere. Before I could inquire further and jog my memory, the cop had disappeared through the crowd and back out the door from where I had just entered from. Damn, missed my chance.

I broke off from my train of thought and began walking back to the bar again. I was still a little too mentally enclosed for me to enjoy the music, but it was odd that I happened to recognize the current track that was playing in the room. Unless my ears deceived me, it was definitely a song performed by a popular trip-hop group back from the late 1990s. Either hundred-fifty-plus-year old music was really popular for this crowd, or maybe it was just possible that the band-in-question's sound was simply ahead of its time and that only now were wider audiences beginning to appreciate it. Whatever, at least these guys had some good taste in music.

I must not have been paying attention because before I knew it, a small figure had nearly smashed into me (in this cramped area, it was hard enough trying to have a bubble of space all to yourself) and it was only because of the way she was looking at me did I realize that this was no accident.

"Hey, you!" a blue-haired female human gushed as she gave one of those smiles so large that it looked fake. "What's happening?"

"Oh…nothing, you!" I said as I struggled to smile in return, my lips feeling like they were being chiseled out of marble for that was how stiff they felt. Yes, my reply was terrible but what else was I going to say when put into a boiling pot like this?

"You never called me after that night, baby," the woman pouted as she started to tug at my jacket zipper. "I was beginning to wonder if you forgot about me."

"What? No, never! How could you think I forgot about you?" I defended, now feeling more and more awkward as I knew I was failing to see the bigger picture here. For starters, I didn't even know this woman's name. I was not so naïve to miss the meaning behind her sensual tone. It would probably not be too far-fetched to assume that I had apparently slept with her for one night…or several. Personally, from the way this woman was starting to rub my clothed chest, she seemed way too clingy for my taste. The other me apparently liked to settle, judging from the results here. If I ever met my other consciousness, I was going to have a little talking-to about not sticking his dick in crazy. The woman's presence though, combined with the sweaty mob of dancing aliens around me was making me feel a little claustrophobic. I desperately needed an out.

"Well, you not calling was a big hint," she simpered. "But it's okay. I'm willing to forgive you, big guy, if you'll do something for me."

I hoped it was recommending a different stylist. Who am I kidding? It's definitely sexual favors she was referring to, but if I played dumb, that would probably entice her to leave me alone. It would definitely get me out of trying to guess her name.

But before I could stammer out a lame reply, salvation arrived in the form of a lanky young man of about my age. He was wearing simple but trendy clothing and he threw an arm around my shoulders like we were old buddies or something. With his other hand he gave the woman a light shove as he flashed a brilliant smile in her direction.

"Get the fuck out of here, Jasmine. Guys' night only." The man elbowed me in the ribs jokingly, almost like he knew me. "Sam and I have got better things to do than your lame ass so stop bugging him for a second helping. It ain't gonna happen."

The woman named Jasmine put her hands on her hips and scowled. "Well, I didn't see _you_ complaining when I was sucking your dick in the bathroom, Josh Kinney! You and your _'friend'_ can go fuck yourselves, for all I care. The both of you probably _are_ gay, come to think of it."

This woman was getting more and more charming by the minute.

Instead of being mad, Josh gave out a laugh and held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, whoa, hey! If I remember correctly, that you told us if we went along with you for a night that you would stop bothering us. If you're so desperate for sex, you can whore yourself out in Chora's Den. I hear the clients there love impressionable human women."

"Both of you can suck a bag of dicks," Jasmine spat as she abruptly turned around, giving us the finger as she departed. When she disappeared into the throng, I let out a breath that I didn't even realize that I had been holding.

"Thanks for that, man," I said. "Don't exactly know what I did to deserve that, but it was weird nonetheless."

"Ah, she's been bothering everyone all afternoon," Josh shrugged. "Crazy horny bitch. Guess now I finally had the courage to tell her off. Anyway, what's new, dude? Been ages since I saw you last."

So Josh _did_ know me. What was it going to take for me to go somewhere that I could be completely anonymous? Or was it that my reputation had spread across the entire station that I had a much wider circle of contacts than I anticipated? Luckily I was starting to get into the groove of bullshitting.

"Had a major stomachache the other day," I said while I unconsciously patted the scar on my abdomen. "Felt like I had a hole in me."

"Shit, man, I would have sent you something," Josh said as he led me over to the bar where we took two unoccupied seats.

"I got over it easily enough," I replied, finding it odd just how easy it was to talk to this person who I technically had never met before. "Believe me, the headache I received afterward was nothing."

"That still from the stomachache or from work?"

"The stomachache. I think I quit my job a few days ago."

Josh looked surprised and pleased. "You quit? Seriously? Damn, man. Good for you!"

"I…what?" I stammered.

"Yeah, you've been talking for months at how working for that firm was nothing but a way to suck precious hours of your life away like some…dastardly…"

"Leech?" I finished, trying to be helpful.

"…Life-sucker!" Josh exclaimed instead, causing a few of my facial muscles to wilt.

"Yeah, well," I began to tap my fingers against the counter, "I felt that it was high time that I got out of there. Hell, I didn't even know what I was doing half the time. I'm actually getting a headache now just thinking back to that awful place."

That last sentence was the most untrue statement. I felt fine but I had the idea that I needed to sell my situation to Josh to make it more believable. He appeared to buy it.

"Well, that's a problem that can be solved by one thing," Josh grinned.

"Vicodin?"

"Um, yes that does work, but I was thinking of booze instead. _Garçon!"_

Josh snapped his fingers and the hanar bartender came floating over. I had put no thought into what I wanted to drink – a problem exacerbated by the fact that I recognized virtually zero of the liquor labels being displayed on the back wall, but Josh had that problem covered for me.

"Line up a row of six whisky shots of the stuff right there, my good man!"

"This one is happy to serve," the hanar said dreamily. I had never heard a hanar speak before and as such, I could not tell where its mouth was. As far as I knew, I was staring at an enlarged jellyfish that happened to be sentient. Christ, galactic life was just a series of convoluted messes.

The hanar's tentacles quickly wrapped around two bottles while its other appendages expertly lined up six shot glasses, three for the both of us. With three simultaneous dips of the bottle, the glasses were filled in seconds and I raised the first one at the same time as Josh.

"To your good health," Josh smirked before he downed his first shot.

"Amen to that," I muttered under my breath before I did the same. Ugh, this whisky was godawful. I made a face and shuddered at the severe burning. It felt like my throat was dissolving. Add to the fact that the aftertaste was complete shit as well. What kind of distillery were these bozos running that could produce such swill like this?

Josh, on the other hand, was grinning as he watched me try not to splutter. "Good shit, huh?" he laughed. That fucker. "Come on, let's do the next two one after the other!"

Without waiting for me, Josh gulped his last shots down like it was water. I was barely getting over the effects from the first sample, but I was still wired to keep up appearances and project a sense of normalcy about me, even if the end result was somewhat vague. I scrunched my eyes and managed to down the next shot without incident but on the third one a bit traveled down the wrong pipe, causing me to immediately cough, and I had to stifle my mouth with my sleeve as I tried not to spew whisky all over the counter.

"Agh!" I hacked out. "I hope you'll forgive me if I didn't find it to be as great as you thought."

"That's the point!" Josh laughed. "You've always been so elitist about what you drink that I thought I should get you back one of these days. Your reaction was a little more polite than I expected, you snob. I thought you were going to curse me out for ordering this batarian shit."

"Batarian?" I wheezed. "Why would you put yourself through that abuse, ordering alcohol that aliens made?"

"Just to get a rise out of you. And this batarian stuff was all I had to drink back in my college days on a meager payroll. A tolerance can be built, believe it or not." He wiped his mouth and banged a fist down on the table. "Okay, no more games. Let's have a _real_ drink, with _real_ honest-to-god human whisky this time."

"Anything to get this taste out of my mouth," I grumbled as I rubbed my throat.

"That can be arranged," Josh grinned. "Oy, bartender! We need to get fucked up over here!"

* * *

A while later, Josh and I had delegated our now intoxicated selves to the rear portion of the establishment, which was titled the "Gentleman's Wing." No need to explain what that meant. The two of us were reclining in a very comfortable and plush booth, nursing our whisky sours, while a human on a stage directly in front of us was dancing and taking her time in stripping off her clothes while we watched.

Before then, though, a couple of asari had joined up and accompanied us inside, now extending our group to a foursome. Josh had not seemed at all surprised, which made me determine that this sort of encounter was planned. A double-date, perhaps? I hoped not. A strip club was not exactly my location of choice to have a date – and it's a sad day when I have to point that out. Regardless, the two asari were now with us at the booth, with Josh and I in the middle and an asari each flanking us. The one currently sitting next to me, an honestly lovely girl by the name of Razena, was trying to cuddle with me and constantly batted her eyelashes in my direction. I was not drunk enough to miss that an _alien_ was trying to flirt with me. It was hard to mistake the signals for anything else, unless asari had different methods of courtship in mind that I was currently not privy to. It was taking a little time for me to process this information, so I endeavored to remain polite and not hurt this woman's feelings for the night. Lord knows I paid for it the last time I mouthed off.

I've honestly never been a fan of strip clubs. Going to one with company makes the experience a lot more enjoyable (going alone is just sad) but all they were to me were places that I had to pay only to get blue balls for the night. That's why I never paid for any private dances in my life, nor did I ever want to. Still, I will admit that there is an allure in watching semi-attractive women take their clothes off, but the setting here was so impersonal and I was drunk enough that I found that I just did not _care_ about the nudity or the women surrounding me.

Since I was watching this girl put on a show and that I wanted to be polite, I leaned over and tapped my new credit chit against the electronic pad at the base of the platform and a credit automatically was deducted from my account and deposited into the coffers of the club. I suppose that was their version of "making it rain" here. Jesus, I couldn't even throw fistfuls of cash around like an asshole anymore at these places.

Speaking of assholes, the girl shot me a dazzling smile for me spending all of one credit on her and she bent over as she pulled her underwear down, giving me an unobstructed view of her birth canal. I was not some sexed-up teenager anymore, I've seen quite a few snatches in my time and I was drunk enough that no part of my body betrayed any sort of reaction. Hell, the best I could see right now was just a pinkish blur, courtesy of the whisky that I've been consuming throughout the night. The revolving neon lights continuously altering the illumination were not helping my vision out, either.

The current song ended and another dancer took the human's place, a female turian this time. What happened next was some sort of outlandish presentation that I could not determine if it was meant to be sexual in any way. In fact, sexy was probably not the word I would choose to describe it. What the turian was doing was engaging in a very aggressive dance by herself, alternating between furiously tearing and slowly sliding what little garments she wore off. The female became nude very quickly, but I guess that because turians were not mammalian to begin with, they lacked a few bits and pieces that I would normally find attractive on a woman.

Breasts. I'm talking about breasts here, and the turian had none. As far as I could tell, this was not just an isolated incident, but apparently turians had nothing resembling mammary glands at all. I don't think that I could distinguish if the female turian had any reproductive organs that resembled what I would normally find on a human. The differences were…unsettling, and the whole experience was more anatomical than erotic. To each his own, I suppose.

"You know what I don't get?" Josh asked as he leaned over in my direction as we both continued to stare at the stripper.

"What's that?"

"Well, because humans are relatively new to this whole 'united galaxy' and shit, I'm a little surprised at how willing some places try to cater to our needs."

"What, you're talking about the dancer here?"

"Yes, that's right," Josh nodded as he motioned with his head in the direction of the turian stripper. "Statistically, you know how many humans admit that they've been with turian partners?"

"Haven't the foggiest."

"Two percent," Josh said like such a conversation held more importance than I gave it credit for. "Just two percent."

"Of the people that admitted it," I pointed out.

The female turian was humping one her undergarments by now, but I was not paying her much mind by now and nor was Josh.

"The point of all this is," Josh leaned in close, "is that our arrival caused all the aliens to adjust to a new consumer base. We're fresh, we're interesting to them, and we have not been collectively jaded from our experiences with otherworldly life yet, which makes us incredibly susceptible in the economic sense. Take the smut industry, just as an example. In order to gain on market share – capitalize upon it – the aliens adjust their routines to try and whore themselves out in a fashion that mimics what they think us humans are into."

"And what's the problem with that?"

Josh looked surprised, like I shouldn't have to be asking him that. "I'll tell you what the problem is. It's that nothing they do is going to work. I mean, look at this dancer. Does a turian immediately strike you as attractive? At first glance?"

"Not really," I shrugged before I looked up at the ceiling in thought. "But I don't see having a relationship with one as being that big of a deal in this climate."

"No, of course not," Josh shook his head emphatically. "Actually, some people might still frown upon it, but such interracial relationships are becoming more and more commonplace very quickly. The point is, that first impressions are everything. You see several aliens try to market themselves as potential suitors for humans when most of the time our narrow view of rating a person's looks is a huge factor into determining if we're going to sleep with one of them. I'm not saying that having relations with turians is impossible, I'm just saying that it seems like they're putting in a lot of effort to try and persuade us to mate with them when in fact our prejudices have to consistently battle to resist such a notion."

"Yeah," I agreed as I took a sip of my drink. "Us humans do have a rather notorious history of being prejudiced. We have the issues between sexes, races, and sexual orientation on our resume as proof that it takes us a long time to adapt. Throwing in aliens as the newest issue to plague our sensibilities seems like it will be a bigger hurdle to adapt. My diagnosis, anyway."

"Oh stop with the secretive chatting, you two," the asari next to Josh interrupted – the one whose name I already forgot. "Why not pay a little more attention to me? I thought you wanted this."

"Baby, I do want this," Josh defended. "But I haven't seen this joker in a long time. Can't I have some time to have a conversation with my friend?" To me he gave a subtle glance with his eyes from the asari leaning against me and back to me face. He mouthed, " _She's totally into you, dude_."

"No, you cannot," the asari said seductively before she forcefully brought his head over to hers so that they could begin in a carnal exploration of each other's mouth with their tongues. That was certainly quick. I raised my eyebrows once in surprise before glancing over at the asari who was sidling her body against mine (the turian stripper had been long forgotten by now). It took me a bit to recall her name again – Razena – but I soon felt confident enough that I wasn't going to make a big blunder like I did with Elizabeth back on Earth.

"She did have a point," Razena moped as she began walking her fingers up my arm.

"What point might that be?" I asked mildly.

"You don't seem to be paying much attention to me either."

Right. That. I think I had an idea of where this was going, but better to drag this out for a bit and make absolutely sure. "So, how much attention _should_ I be giving you?"

"Oh, I don't know," the asari replied absentmindedly. "A lot."

"How much is a lot?"

"A lot."

I drained my glass in frustration before giving a tiny shake as the alcohol traveled down my gullet. "Would said level of attention presumably reach appropriate levels if I was to invite you back to my place?"

"Well…" Razena screwed up her eyes in mock concentration, deliberately holding back her answer. "You are cute enough, so I think I'd be inclined to agree and take you up on such an offer."

I don't think there was any other way that this situation could be spun: an alien was practically throwing herself upon me to have sex. If this wasn't as real as I could determine, I would laugh at this obviously nerdy pipe-dream that had presented itself to me on a silver platter. Maybe I was just drunk enough that I was able to dismiss the woman's alien characteristics – despite the blue skin and crests adorning her scalp, there was not much that distinguished Razena from being a human. Or there was just some crude notion that I had that was yearning to have sex with an alien just for bragging rights. I was not in a particularly right frame of mind at the time so I can't really pinpoint the exact catalyst for such a decision. I also didn't think that this person was critically important to the timeline, so I wagered that I would be safe for this little tryst. I was sober enough to be considering _that,_ at least.

What the hell, no one lives forever.

I set the glass down on the table and motioned for Razena to stand up so that I could follow.

* * *

Let me be clear on this: if I had been sober, this entire situation would have played out a lot differently.

The short walk over to the apartment complex played out in relative silence, which should have been enough time for me to see the error of my ways, or more importantly what I was about to do, but that opportunity came and went. When Razena and I arrived at my place after disembarking from the lift, I gestured for her to start getting ready while I went into my room to change into something a little more comfortable. Now, alarm bells should have been going off in my head at this time, but since the alcohol had overpowered all of my common sense, the only functioning part of my brain was jumping up and down screaming, "Oh yeah! Sexy time!"

Drunk Sam can be a bit of an idiot sometimes.

I had only pulled off my shirt at this time before I heard a noise from the doorway. I turned around and my tipsy brain stopped working for a few seconds. Razena was standing in the threshold – stark naked – posing seductively so that I could look at her body for a quick moment. In terms of a body, I do have to admit that it was a nice one. The contours were human-like and I could see that asari were very anatomically similar to human women, to my relief. Razena was slender and the lighting from the half-opened windows bathed her back with a multicolored glow. Before I could enjoy the sight of her some more, she practically ran up to me and pushed me down onto the bed so that she could tear the rest of my clothes off.

Her skin felt weird to the touch. It was not at all like human flesh; it was scaly, like a snake's but a lot less pronounced and cooler in temperature to my own skin. It was smooth and yielded nicely to my own touch, but it kept reminding me of who I was with and what she really was. It was a very odd sensation.

Here's where things started to get weird for me. It was about the time when Razena started kissing me, did I get a tiny little twitch in my head. The idea that I was technically engaging in a form of bestiality was not lost on me. Then again, I suppose that acts between different species were not exactly taboo in this universe and that I was still operating on a mindset rooted in the year 2015. But still, even then loads of science fiction and fantasy media had been doing a good job in indoctrinating the population by promoting interspecies relationships for years. Doesn't mean that most of those examples were even _good_ , mind you.

So, right now you have two equally intoxicated individuals, a human and an asari, in bed together in the very beginnings of coitus and no, I was not at all excited. Razena was going wild as she was kissing all over my face, but in contrast, I was doing very little to kiss her back. I don't know, it's like something was weighing me down from participating at her energy level. I didn't feel tired or anything like that, which was odd. Detached, numb, aloof. Everything was murky for me like a perpetual fog was clouding my vision and that I had been submerged in liquid. This felt wrong to me.

I was still lucid enough that I was still a little bit aroused from having a naked woman, alienness be damned, atop me. Who wouldn't? In intimate moments like these, the body was the one doing all the talking. Apparently Razena felt like skipping the foreplay for the night and the next thing I knew, I was inside her as she began to bounce atop me, wasting no time in cutting to the chase.

She had definitely done this before, as evident by her quick and practiced movements. There was none of the awkwardness ensuing from what would have been the archetypal introduction of a maiden to sex. The lusty moans erupting from Razena's mouth were undoubtedly ones allowed to burst free after a good amount of experience. She seemed to be enjoying it so far which was more than I could say for myself.

There is some joy to be had with sleeping with another person, but for some reason, I was not really feeling it tonight. I was aroused, yes, but my mind was not really in the moment. I was thinking of car crashes, screams, and blood flowing from deep gashes. I closed my eyes and wished for this to be over. Razena did not seem to notice my mental disposition and continued to move up and down upon me, her hands clawing at my chest that seemed like she was overacting a bit.

For whatever reason, this just was not working. I put my hands on Razena's hips just to give them something to hold onto, while I looked around the room and away from the asari's bouncing breasts. I was desperately trying to pay attention to anything else that I did not notice a few blue wispy tendrils start to emanate from Razena's skull. Before I knew what was happening, I saw too late her pupils completely spread across her sclera and a blistering white shockwave pulsed from her forehead, sucking me into a whirlpool of sensation beyond my comprehension.

_I could feel her heartbeat, her drawing breath. It felt…familiar. Heavy. Our body processes began to sync up with the other, but it was nothing like I had ever felt before. Could you imagine being aware of blood surging through your arteries, each cord of muscle tightening and loosening from your brain signals? Each and every pore seemed to widen, gulping down the stimulus that it completely flooded my-_

" _Gah!_ " I groaned as I abruptly sat up, almost knocking heads with Razena. She climbed off me in alarm so that I could clutch my head in pain. A raging headache had decided to spring up out of the blue, almost paralytic to the point that I had to clench my fists into balls as a way to drive away the agony.

Razena was hovering over my shoulder cautiously and I tenderly turned her way, my face stained with sweat. "What the fuck was _that?_ " I gritted.

The asari bit her lip nervously, trying to look bashful even though she was completely nude. "I…I…I just tried to mind meld with you…t-that's it. I swear…I only wanted to make it feel good. I thought you would like it…"

"Yeah well, don't do it again," I growled as I rubbed my temples. That had been a very odd way to interrupt such an act.

"Did…did you still want to finish?" Razena asked, and it was a question that I was seriously considering saying 'no' to. But if I did, then I would just be left here alone, all wound up for no reason at all. For males, such a sensation is incredibly frustrating to the point that it causes severe bouts of rage. Might as well see this thing through to the end. I know, my life is an _absolute_ travesty.

Without uttering a word, I pushed Razena down so that I could be on top of her this time. Now _I_ could be in control. Before long we were going at it again, with the asari groaning out her pleasure while I was struggling to even reach my plateau. I pounded away at her desperately to edge closer but Razena mistook my fierce movements that for lust and moaned even louder. I then let out an exasperated groan at my situation, and she misunderstood that one as well with an answering cry of her own. Good Lord, can't she just shut up so that I can get myself off in relative silence?

At this point, I was not continuing for the pleasure or to give pleasure to my current partner. I don't think I've ever had such a mindset like that for sex before. For many people, this is just a release – a way to get rid of the frustration and angst that acclimates over time – and this was exactly what it was for me: an attitude discrepancy.

If Razena's goal was to achieve an orgasm from this night, then I had not been paying attention on that front. If she turned out to be unlucky tonight, oh well. I kept at it, though, just struggling my way through and continuing to regret this random hookup.

"Oh yes…please," Razena croaked as I got closer. "Inside me…baby…"

Oh no. No fucking way was I doing that. It was bad enough that I had forgone protection for this but I was definitely _not_ going to finish inside her. I didn't think that humans could impregnate other species, but I had not done enough research to know the specifics about the biology of all the aliens in this universe. Was there a Plan B for asari or was I just overreacting? Forget it! I'm not taking any fucking chances.

So, because I was not a hundred percent sure of the consequences and the fact that I had felt violated from Razena's mind rape just minutes earlier, I decided to act out in a spiteful and equally childish manner. I pulled out and finished on her stomach.

Immediately Razena's expression dropped from bliss to disgust as she started to notice what had happened. As she took in the sight of my milt on her belly, she gave me an _I-can't-believe-you've-done-this_ face, leaped off the bed and stormed into the bathroom to clean herself off. She shot me another dirty look as she slammed the door shut, leaving me alone at last. All I could do was chuckle and flop my hands to the side in acceptance. Finally, it was done. That crushing feeling had finally been lifted off my chest and my head was clear again. Small victories, all in all.

I did not bother with trying to put all my clothes back on, so I simply threw my robe around me and grabbed my ever-trusty pack of cigarettes and lighter, smacking both items on my palm as I wandered into the living area. As soon as I dug a smoke out and held it between my lips, Razena exited the bathroom, wearing the sheer article of clothing that she had previously arrived here in. Our gazes locked and she gave a scowl, as if she was expecting me to say something first. I stared at her expectantly, knowing that my semi-amused glance was enough to dare her to speak the first word.

The asari finally seemed to get the message. "Did you want me to stay at all?" she asked after clearing her throat.

The answer was obvious but I chose to put on a performance so that I looked like I was giving the matter some thought. It started with a rather overdone glance to the ceiling then down to my pack of cigarettes before finally resting on her again. "Eh," I gave a careless shrug and a wave of dismissal. "Not really."

All I could see was pure loathing in Razena's eyes for being so callous towards her, but I had not enjoyed our time together all that much. The sex had been mediocre and that was not taking into account her failed mind probe - rape - whatever. The sum total of tonight had been definitively in the red for me, so I did not give a rat's ass if she thought we had some chemistry together because the sole answer was that we did not. Not in the slightest.

Once Razena had left in a huff, I walked onto the balcony so that I would not fill my apartment up with smoke. I flicked the lighter and held the bursting flame to the tip of my cigarette until it glowed a warm red. I inhaled, craving the sweet tobacco on my tongue, and exhaled the ash after it had filled my lungs. Nothing like a post-sex smoke to drag out what little euphoric feelings had been attained.

The night was half-over by now but the traffic had subsided to a crawl from what I could gather. I just continued to chain smoke one after the other as I stared up at the nebula, dashing all thoughts of Razena out of my mind and still draping myself in wonder how I managed to get here, in space, in the first place. My ruminations would continue to lead me nowhere, just like before.

As I continued to daydream, my thoughts inevitably turned to the events of a few days ago, and of the quarian whose life I saved. I wondered where she was right now – either still at the hospital or somewhere else on this station, counting her lucky stars or her good fortune, whichever of the two. I genuinely hoped that she was all right. Just because I can be an asshole sometimes doesn't mean that I have no capacity for caring.

I still didn't feel like finding out her name, though.


	6. Spur - Violence II

"… _And as you can see from the damage sustained during the attack, what would have been a freshly unearthed archeological site in the ground is now marred by blast marks from weapons fire. The exact number of assailants is currently unconfirmed, as is their identities, yet soldiers from the Alliance managed to repel the forces left behind at the last minute…"_

I nearly caused my water glass to overflow as I was filling it in the sink. I had just set my breakfast down in front of the vidscreen and had gone to procure my drink after I turned it on. What greeted me was the monotone voice of the reporter dispassionately recanting events on a faraway world, yet I knew that this incident would be the spark that would start the critical chain reaction.

Edging out back into the living room, I sighed as I saw the bulletin on the vidscreen summarizing the broadcast. It was a simple and direct phrase, not leaving anything up to the audience's imagination. "EDEN PRIME ATTACKED" was displayed at the bottom in bright red letters and I was struck at the scenes of devastation that streaked the landscape. The footage showed a few buildings shelled from motor fire, a few crates toppled over from a previous panic, and a hole from an archeological site that had been partially collapsed from the tremors and summarily ruined hours of work from its displacement.

" _Reports coming in say there have been as many as fifteen dead with an unknown number of wounded. The perpetrators are still at large but are not reported to be in the area. Local politicians are sending their hopes and prayers to the families of the wounded while other call for more action in Parliament regarding the protection of human colonies."_

"Shit," I said to myself before I took a tender sip from my glass. It was almost like watching a movie from the images this broadcast was portraying. Science fiction had become reality, in this case.

The occurrence of the Eden Prime attack was most definitely not a good thing for me. You know, I had actually just started to get complacent on the Citadel in the four months since I had first arrived here and I was not looking forward to anything disrupting my reasonably static life right about now. I alternated between staying in most days to play video games or watch movies, or go out to the clubs with Josh or a few other mutual friends. Sometimes we just bar hopped or went to more exotic places beyond my imagination. There was this one establishment known as Armax Arena that simulated a virtual battlefield and enemies where you and your friends could engage in a mock war, utilizing a pre-built stage as the foundation for a digitally formed battleground. All of the violence and weapons were holographic so there was no risk of getting hurt. Good thing too, as I was one of the worst of the bunch among my peers – I constantly scored the lowest because I kept getting hit by enemy fire (or swarmed by the occasional zombie) all the time.

My omni-tool started ringing and I glanced at it. Speak of the devil, it was Josh.

"Hey," I spoke into the digital receiver. "You figure out the plan for tonight?"

" _Absolutely_ ," Josh's pleased voice burst through. " _And it's an opportunity for a great time. You heard about that London Tapestries place on the extranet?_ "

Now I was interested. London Tapestries was a new bar that was bringing in a new method of alcohol digestion to the masses. Supposedly they had a kind of humidifier installed into the place that made it so that you could absorb alcohol just by breathing it in. They were supposed to give you special clothing to wear as well as goggles to prevent any alcohol from being absorbed through the skin and eyes as that was a surefire way to get alcohol poisoning in minutes. Still, it sounded like a very interesting experience to have.

"Don't tell me that it's opening tonight?!" I exclaimed as I stood up straighter in interest.

" _Sure is_ ," Josh laughed. " _The line's projected to start four hours from opening. Fortunately for you, I know a certain someone who is going to get in the queue at that time and let us cut in the line._ "

"Let me guess," I pretended to muse. "This the latest in your long line of girlfriends that will undoubtedly be replaced by next week?"

" _You wound me_ ," Josh said mockingly. " _I'll have you know that this girl is nothing at all like the last four that I've had. She's an absolute monster in bed, man. You'll like her, I know you will._ "

"Let's hope her intelligence is a bit brighter than the last. This current girl though, she wouldn't happen to be called Derek, would she?"

" _Asshole_ ," Josh said but laughed all the same. " _I'll see you later tonight, then_."

"Right, man. Take care."

Josh could be a little obnoxious from time to time, but he did know how to keep things interesting whenever I got bored with my life. I guess I was impressed that someone with such high energy could still function so remarkably when I tended to be a little more subdued. I never was much of an introvert but this whole culture shock did not exactly alleviate my agoraphobia, to put it mildly. Josh at least was instrumental in helping me adjust to the Citadel, albeit unwittingly, and allowing me to become a functioning member of society once again.

The Eden Prime attack threatened to undo all the hard work that I had accomplished so far. I had not spent my free time lazing about all the time, let me tell you that. Thanks to the power of drunken recall (courtesy of my unlimited supply of gin and tonics) I was able to recall to some extent the events of the three games over the months and I apparently had the foresight to sloppily jot them down so that I would not forget them again. The brain works in mysterious ways.

I was able to remember via my alcohol-assisted reminiscence that on Eden Prime was a piece of ancient alien technology that carried a warning about a genocidal machine race known as the Reapers. Two separate parties (Commander Shepard and some guy called Siren…no, Soren…Sirius? Damn!) would expose themselves to that warning and thus begin a race across the galaxy to either prevent Armageddon or to usher it in. Commander Shepard (gender still unbeknownst to me) would be the one who would use the information gleaned from the beacon to save the galaxy and thus establish themselves as the ultimate hero for all organic and synthetic life.

But that was all yet to come.

I had no idea of how much time the length of the first game spanned, but I knew that I had to take precautions if I was going to get out of the eventual battle that would bring itself to the Citadel's shores. I had the knowledge that a fighting force of hostile bipedal synthetic warriors would eventually invade the Citadel in a dramatic battle. If I wanted to have a chance at surviving that fight, I had to make a plan that could ensure my guaranteed safety – such as getting far away from this place as possible. Ah well, I could always do that later. Procrastinators of the world unite…tomorrow!

Of course, I still was dead set against revealing my knowledge of future events to anyone. It had been a while since I had performed any major screw ups regarding altering the timeline and I was not keen to start that up again. I just had to trust that the timeline would work itself out in the best interests of Shepard and company, and I could safely skirt away and watch from the sidelines. Small moves, Sam. That way, I can be content that I would not have altered anything in a horrific fashion and have created a paradox overwhelmingly not in my favor. What I wouldn't give for a time-traveling DeLorean right about now.

Just in case, I had the notion to do a little research beforehand so that I would be privy to some of the action lurking below the surface of an ordinary citizen's tunnel vision. I quickly polished the rest of my breakfast off and booted up my omni-tool again, switching from the call screen to my extranet browser. I knew that the Citadel possessed an extensive camera network and that pretty much all of them were public access, including the ones at military docking bays. I could not set my image finder to hone in on a specific outline from my memory, so I resorted to flipping through all the channels until I found what I wanted. It was a process that I thought was going to be quite monotonous but I actually achieved my goal in just over two minutes.

"Bingo," I said as I leaned in closer to the screen. "There you are."

It was hard not to know a sight like that, even when my experience with it was rather fleeting and spotty. The sleek hull of the _Normandy_ looked like every bit the ship that I was able to remember from the games. To be technical, on the screen it looked more like a model, but I was not about to declare that I was hallucinating. One of sci-fi's iconic ships was on this station right now! That's kind of like having the _Serenity_ or _Millennium Falcon_ close by depending on how nerdy you were to those respective franchises. At the very least, I honestly would like to catch a glimpse of the craft one of these days, but I think that my policy of non-commitment would be violated the closer I strayed to the ship and its crew. I guess I was going to have to settle for looking at the ship through a screen, then.

Then again, if the _Normandy_ was here then that meant Shepard was here as well. Holy Christ, that man was already going to be doing the bulk of his recruiting on this station most likely this day, before he would become inducted as the galaxy's first human Spectre. Things were moving faster than I thought. I'd better lie low today or the next day, just to make sure that I won't-

Oh, wait a minute. Something's wrong. I stomped my foot on the ground in frustration after I had dug in my pocket and found nothing. I searched high and low around my apartment and came up empty with my desired item in question. Damn it all! I was out of cigarettes. On top of that, I had run out of my coffee supply yesterday as well. No wonder I was feeling so tired today. So, I currently had no nicotine and no caffeine to boot. That was not a combination that I would like to experience, but for all I know Shepard is out there pretty much deputizing anyone who helps him out in some small manner. I'm not one to get roped up in armed combat but I _needed_ cigs at the very least lest my cravings become too debilitating.

Muttering profanities, I stormed into my room and came out shoving on a jacket. All right, Sam. You're just going out to get your coffee and cigarettes. No funny business. No trips to the bars or the Council Chambers, or anywhere on the Presidium for that matter! You can certainly walk to the convenience store and back without causing any trouble, right?

Even my brain was hesitant in answering that question, my pessimism having risen to high levels. After all, I had broken that rule before. Who's to say I can't break it again?

Hey, Sam's subconscious? Sometimes you just got to learn to shut the fuck up!

* * *

It was only a short jaunty to the store-restaurant combo and I was at the appropriate block in no time. That was good as it meant less chances for me to get swept up into an adventure I had no intention of traveling. However, at the entrance of the place, some radical human had chosen that particular spot as the nexus for where he would base all of his ravings uttered at the passing populace. This man was young, perhaps a few years younger than me, looked to be pretty charged, and wore a shirt that said _Terra Firma_ in bright neon letters on it. I had no idea if that was a saying somewhere or if that was an organization of some kind. I knew enough Latin to know that Terra Firma meant "from Earth" but I did not get the appropriate context for the situation right away. I did get a chance to hear what the man was saying before I headed inside, though.

"Earth first and forever!" the man crowed. "Do not forget the horrors that occurred at Shanxi! The turians massacred our people during the First Contact War so why should we be in bed with them? Humanity's politics are theirs alone to manage, not the Council's! We should have a say in the matter! You there, do-,"

I hurriedly entered the establishment, desperate to get away from the man's rantings. I do so hate obnoxious protestors. The place itself reminded me of a diner; white tile floors, counter in front of the kitchen with booths at the windows, the seats made out of vinyl. If I had not already eaten I would have sat down and ordered some good old breakfast food. After all, it's hard to screw up eggs and toast.

However, when I took my place in line at the convenience section I was embarrassed to see that most of the alien patrons looked uncomfortable as they stared out the window, watching the young man continue to slander their races. As I got in line, I became more and more ashamed as I took careful glances at the people standing in line or sitting at tables around me. I felt like more of an outsider than ever; these people in here were obviously affected by what this man was saying, yet I was tuning it out like nothing because I was a human and therefore it did not affect me. What was the logic in free speech if that speech was hurting people? Shanxi and the First Contact War were just terms to me, they meant nothing. But to everyone else, it seemed like the words coming out of that man's mouth were doing genuine harm. Yet no one had confronted the man, from what I saw. Everyone was content to try their best at ignoring him while picking silently at their meals.

Eventually reaching the cash register, I paid for a bag of coffee beans and a few packs of cigarettes. There was nothing else I needed but I did throw in a packet of gum just for the hell of it.

"You know, those things will kill you," the turian cashier said as he set the cigarettes down on the counter in front of me.

"Don't patronize me, pal," I snorted as I shoved the packs into my jacket pocket.

Exiting, I immediately had a smoke out and lit, Citadel regulations be damned. Actually, I was pretty certain that I could smoke on this level, but I was too lazy to find that out for myself. If I got a citation for my small contribution to the pollution level, then I probably would deserve it. C'est la vie.

"Earth first!" the man was still yelling. "Terra Firma! Remember Shanxi and 314! Remember what the turian bastards did to us! The asari whores let the violence happened and stopped us only when they realized our true power!"

Oy vey. Conspiracy theorists suck ass in every galaxy. I edged away from the still bullshit-spewing bigot, wanting to get out of earshot before he got to be a little too annoying on my psyche.

"You there!" the man shouted. I instinctively looked over at the outburst and the two of us locked eyes. Crap, too late. The man was pointing directly at me, like he was gesturing me over to make a point. However, I stood my ground and gave a drag of my cigarette. I was not going to move over to a man like that. No way, no how.

Do not engage, Sam. For the love of god, do not engage.

Apparently my stiff demeanor was fine with the man because he quickly walked over to me despite my sour gaze. I eyed him up and down. He was wearing all black clothing with a long jacket that I guess could be considered a trench coat, yet the green neon lettering on the man's shirt clashed rather horribly with the rest of his attire. The man had a scraggly beard, his hair was short and blond, and he reeked of bad cologne. His overall appearance would be considered somewhat acceptable to most except it was the fact that his eyes were the most disturbing feature. They were a bright blue and they bugged out like they were one jolt from popping out from their sockets. Eyes of someone completely off their rocker or perhaps had one too many Adderall tablets swimming in their system.

"What?" I snorted as I attempted to shuffle away, but the man blocked my path as he surged in my direction.

"Morning, friend!" the man said loudly in my face to the point that I winced. He stuck his hand out for a firm shake. "Name's Dennis. Care to listen for a minute or two about the Terra Firma party?"

The phrase "a minute or two" in this case was undoubtedly referring to ten. I'm well aware of these political games and tactics. "I believe it's the afternoon, actually," I corrected while Dennis' hand remained alone before it sheepishly dropped back down to his side.

"So it is!" Dennis replied cheerfully, his exuberant attitude already starting to grate on me. "But I've been out here for four hours and hardly anyone has expressed interest for my party's views. Can you help me by listening, man?"

This was the problem here. I had stupidly decided to engage with this man instead of trying to walk away. Why, oh why did I ignore my subconscious again? Now that we had shared words, this guy was going to be even tougher to shake off. Even more aggravating was the fact that I did not like this man all that much, just at first glance. As they say, first impressions are everything.

"What, are you looking for donations?" I raised an eyebrow. I blew out a puff of smoke, hoping that the carcinogens would replace the smell of the man's repugnant cologne. "I didn't just fall off the back of the hammer truck to know that this party you're touting is obviously a tad unpopular, based on the heated comments you were making back there. It seemed to be upsetting quite a lot of people."

"You mean the truth?" Dennis asked genuinely. "If what I was saying was _not_ upsetting people, then I would not be doing my job correctly! Oh my good sir, such a functioning member of society like you should be aware of the war going on at the moment…the war that we will most certainly lose unless we take preemptive action!"

"As far as I know, there _is_ no war going on." That is, the real war had not started quite _yet_ , but I was not going to say a word. "Perhaps the war of which you speak of is referring to the clashing of your wardrobe, in which case I would recommend the suit shop on the third arm of this station. They tend to have items a bit less…slipshod."

Dennis did not seem to take offence and waved his hand around dramatically. "You jest, but what I am referring to is the war between us and the aliens. Specifically, the movement by the Council to oust humans from the- Hey! Where are you going?"

I had made an effort to leave back towards my apartment, rolling my eyes as I did so, but Dennis was inescapable and was back at my side in seconds, step for step.

"Get the fuck away from me," I growled.

"Now hold on a second!" Dennis said. "Have you ever felt, throughout your entire life, that you've been put down for no reason? As in, have you ever been persecuted to some extent?"

"You seem to be missing your E-meter," I answered glibly, momentarily ignoring the question. "I thought audits like these never take place without them. Sorry to disappoint you and Xenu, but I think that I'm just going have to take the label of a suppressive person if that gets you to go away for one minute."

Dennis' face was blank. "I…apologize, sir…but I have no idea of what you are talking about."

"Oh, so you _aren't_ a Scientologist. Then what the hell are you?"

"I happen to be a Catholic. I'm a member of the Terra Firma party and I am currently lobbying on the behalf of Charles Saracino for one of the spacer seats on the Alliance parliament. I don't understand exactly why you'd be comparing me to a Scientologist, though. That misguided band of brainwashed fools was disbanded in the mid twenty-first century and has no bearing right now."

Thank god for that.

"A lobbyist, eh?" I chortled. "So this is some kind of grassroots campaign to win over the hearts and minds of humans? Specifically by pandering to the most xenophobic of humans through your bigoted and hate-filled speech?" Now where had I heard that before?

"Now wait just a minute," Dennis' face was serious as he stopped right in front of me, holding out a hand and physically halting my progress. "Everyone knows that humanity has lost its way ever since we've made contact with the…others. Races like the turians are violent and vicious warmongers, and humanity does not need to get itself involved with the issues of foreigners. Domestic policy has hit an all-time low and its citizens are suffering as a result. Humans should take care of their own first before lending valuable resources or aid, especially militarily, to anyone else."

I sourly looked down at the hand that was pressed flat upon my chest. Slowly and deliberately, I reached down and pried it away. "First off," I hissed. "Don't you ever fucking touch me again. Second, your views or your party's views are incredibly naïve, not to mention downright offensive. Look at how much humanity has achieved from partnering with the other races – by choosing to ally with them! Technology, habitats, discovery, everything that's occurred since we've decided to work together has been for the betterment of our species. It's a big galaxy out there and no one can claim all of it. _Cooperating_ , in this case, furthers our mutual goals."

"Yet humanity does not hold a seat on the Council. We're practically looked down upon by every other species on that foolhardy committee!"

"But the volus, elcor, hanar, and many other races have no seats," I pointed out. "We've only just had first contact with aliens for a few decades now – we're the newest addition to the galaxy's combined races. Other races have been lobbying for seats for sometimes centuries. We should be grateful that we've gotten this far at all."

Of course, at the end of the year humanity would undoubtedly wind up earning a seat on the Council despite our relative youth. Yet such a declaration right now would be baseless and would sound just as crazy as Dennis' theories. I could not fight insanity with insanity right now.

"You know," I continued, "considering that our advancement is guaranteed if we thought of the aliens as our _allies_ , we will continue to advance far beyond our wildest dreams. That _includes_ the turians, which you seem to be very trigger-happy in disparaging."

Dennis did not seem to be convinced. "But what about Shanxi? Relay 314? The turians fired upon us first just for being curious. I know people that had family die over there, man. You're telling me that they should just lie down and accept that their sons and daughters fought and died for nothing? That in the end, all we were able to achieve was just a _truce_?"

I laughed around the cigarette in my mouth. "Oh, blow me. You may claim to know people that died through mutual friends but I'll be willing to be that you don't know anyone directly who has perished as a result of direct conflict between the governments of different races. Violence in this galaxy happens all the time. It wasn't a novel concept when we burst onto the scene then and it sure as shit is not one now. If you forget, countries fought all the time back on Earth and they eventually allied with each other over time. War happens, but people find ways to move on."

"Yes, but-,"

"-But incidents like Relay 314 and Shanxi are mere blips compared to humanity's history of armed conflict. What was it, only five or six hundred humans lost in total? What about the World Wars? Vietnam? More humans were lost to those conflicts – way, way, more – and you're here trying to promote that humanity is not mature enough to be open for a potential partnership? The turians, if you recall, were reprimanded and forced to pay reparations. The Council was not interested in protecting a member race at that time, which should be an indication that they are open for us to become a larger voice in the galactic sense. Fuck, all you're doing is just hampering that progress through your rambling about a secession for humanity. You're insulting _everyone_ , including the humans you claim to represent."

As expected, Dennis did not seem to be heavily affected by what I just said. "Wait, wait, wait," he tried to assure me. "Wait just a minute. Those events you just tried to use as a comparison have a fatal flaw. They were conflicts that humans inflicted upon each other. When the turians first threatened us, we rose up and united to repel our common enemy! We were stronger together than the other aliens had initially thought and that made them _afraid_ of us. They don't want us to be on the Council because they think we will become too powerful, but we're powerful enough already. Now that humans are more united than ever, we have the ability to stand alone and keep our politics to ourselves, while leaving the rest of the galaxy to mind its own business. That will ensure stability for us, fiscally and militarily."

"Like I said," I grumbled. "Incredibly naïve. Now you're insinuating that we can win in an actual conflict against the combined might of the Council. Those are treasonous words that I don't think many people here will take kindly to. Despite our advances in technology, I don't think we will be able to compete with a race like the asari who has had centuries to perfect their creations, or the sheer numbers of the full turian fleets, and that's not discounting the crafty natures of the salarians. It isn't worth getting on anyone's bad side. Not now. This is a critical moment that all humans should realize and that-,"

"A critical moment?" Dennis interrupted. "You sound like you've already accepted the fact that humanity is not pursuing its independence any time soon. Worse than that, it sounds like you've _embraced_ the notion that we should consider the aliens to be our equal."

Oh, he had no idea what I believed.

"Evolve or die," I replied. "You can continue to believe that our future lies with humans acting alone but I'll continue to believe in the opposite."

"And nothing I will say can convince you?"

I gave a mental scoff. _I already know the events that are about to occur in the next couple of years,_ I thought to myself. _You're not the one sucked into an alternate reality here, that privilege currently belonged to me._

"Not in the slightest," I muttered as I tried to shoulder my way past the man again. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

"Wait!" Dennis cried, now seriously starting to piss me off with his vehemence. "You actually support allying with the aliens?"

"Why not? It's the natural flow of things and I'm not one to swim upstream."

"You mean, you'd approve of things going even further than that?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You know…" Dennis looked in all directions before he leaned in close and whispered, "Sex."

I bit down on my cigarette as my face turned incredulous. "I'm sorry, _what?_ " I asked in an exasperated voice.

"Banging? Fucking? Putting on your business socks? Taking them to Poundtown? Bending her over a barrel and showing her the fifty states?"

"All right, all right, enough!" I screwed up my face. "I know what sex is, jackass! I don't need a human thesaurus rattling off every damn term in the book to me!"

"But you _would_ support it, yes?"

The man's ignorance was astounding, especially considering the day and age. Based on my experiences perusing various bars and clubs, I'd say that a fair number of humans have embraced the idea of taking partners from other species. Haven't people learned that casual racism has only contributed to the degradation of society as a whole? I thought we would have had that figured out with an extra hundred and fifty years.

"If two people love each other and they happen to be differing species," I answered, choosing my words carefully, "it is not my place to be able to deny them happiness. I don't vilify people who make that choice and I'm frankly astonished that you hold such beliefs."

Dennis' jaw dropped, like I had committed some form of blasphemy. Shame on me for acting like a decent fucking person, apparently.

"So…you would seriously consider sleeping with…an asari?" he asked timidly, like he was afraid of knowing the answer.

"Sorry to tell you that I've already tried that. Twice, as a matter of fact." I was enjoying watching Dennis' face turn multiple shades of red. My actions were clashing so hard with his beliefs that I bet he was struggling to consider if I was some form of the Antichrist. I blew a steady stream of smoke out from my mouth casually, causing Dennis to cough as his eyes stung from the vapors.

"But…" he spluttered, "…they're aliens! It's just not right!"

"Quit your whining. I'm sure I'm not the first person to sleep with another outside of my own species."

"And you're not disgusted with yourself?"

"I'm _always_ disgusted with myself," I shrugged. "Having sex with aliens, however, is not where my consternation is focused."

"Then you'd be open to doing it w-with others?" Dennis asked, shocked.

"It would have to depend on the circumstances," I considered, "but I wouldn't rule anything out at the moment."

"You'd bang a turian?"

"Let's just say that I wouldn't say no to the idea."

"A batarian?"

"If I felt some kind of attachment to them, sure."

"Salarians?"

"Apparently they only have sex for breeding purposes so I don't exactly think that I'll get such a chance. But if the opportunity would ever present itself, I would not be totally opposed."

"You're a sick freak," Dennis was disgusted. "You would even go to bed with…a quarian?"

I took a quick drag. "I think it would be rather difficult, having to contend with those suits and their weak immune systems, but anything's possible, I suppose." I blew smoke out of my nostrils. "Why are you so interested in my kinks anyway? I'm definitely not in your target demographic for your party's ideals so why bother trying your luck with me unless there's more underneath the exterior? This amount of frustration and your fascination with the opposite gender is…quite telling. Could it be, perhaps…that you just want to get laid?"

"What?" Dennis exclaimed. "N-No! That's not it at all!"

"Look, man, you've been down the list denoting how sexually depraved I am while you're standing out in public shouting for people to keep it in their pants unless they're with their own kind. You said it yourself that you've had zero luck at campaigning thus far, which represents that the majority of the human population does not share your view of the galaxy. Therefore, I'm guessing that this is a last-ditch effort to gain some semblance of attention that has otherwise never been afforded to you before."

"This has gone far enough. I'm sorry for wasting your time-,"

"Now hang on," I now stepped in front of Dennis' way, determined to say _my_ part. "The way you treat all of these aliens with disdain, having apparently suffered no direct losses of your own per your anecdotes, makes me think that your flawed viewpoints were obtained in another manner. I'm thinking…that you had a woman once – an alien – and they probably broke your heart. That's why you're dedicated to this fruitless campaign in order to get back at whoever spurned you in the past."

Dennis froze and that look told me everything I needed to know about him. He was not very good at masking his true emotions, allowing me to read him like a book.

"That…" he breathed, "…that is completely and utterly ridiculous, sir. I would n-never-,"

"Cut the horseshit," I scowled. "And stop treading on others because you think their lives are better than yours. If you even knew what I had to go through, you wouldn't have dared accosted me in the first place. I've lost more than you ever have so don't fucking treat me like I'm ignorant to the cruel galaxy out there. So you couldn't get your rocks off. Big fucking whoop. I've had women treat me cruelly in the past but you don't see me trash talking them, do you?"

"Stop talking, sir!" Dennis begged, his face white and fearful.

"It's people like you that makes me disgusted with my own race sometimes. Who is going to give a flying fuck if someone didn't blow you that one night? _'Oh poor me, I've got blue balls and there's nothing I can do about it!'_ Screw that, this isn't an ignorance problem. This is a damn _asshole_ probl-,"

" _Fuck you!_ " Dennis screamed as he suddenly swung his fist. I was totally unprepared for the blow and was shocked as my head was batted to the side with a painful smack. My cigarette flew out of my mouth and onto the pavement. I could taste blood in my mouth and I felt my jaw tenderly.

I had a moment to laugh to myself. I had made Dennis lose control. Usually at this point in an argument the person who resorts to fisticuffs first is the one who throws their side of the conversation. It was just fortunate that Dennis happened to be a lousy fighter as his punch, although painful, was not as strong of a blow like I was expecting. I bet all that was going to remain of the blow was just a bruise. My part in this aggravating debate was now over; I could leave whenever I wanted. But, there was the fact that Dennis had crossed a certain line with me. He had knocked my cigarette out of my mouth and for that, he needed to be punished.

Dennis seemed to sense the maniacal monster creeping out of the cracks within me and immediately threw up his hands in surrender. "Sorry!" he quickly uttered. "Sorry! I'm sorry!"

Sorry was not going to cut it. Not this time. I was a much bigger person than Dennis and I practically towered over him as I stepped to bring him into my arm's reach. My answering punch to his face sent Dennis hurtling down to the ground, very much conscious with blood streaming from his jaw. He must have bit his tongue when I had hit him.

It had been a long time since I had actually traded punches in a fight (I had never gotten the chance to do so from that ruckus in the alley months back) and I had completely forgotten the proper technique for punching someone that I knew I had done it wrong the instant my fist had made contact. My fingers had been positioned at an awkward angle and two of them broke in an instant when they impacted on Dennis' skull. I shouted in pain but kept my maimed fist raised as I stood over Dennis, ready to throw down some more if it should come to such a stage.

"You finished?" I panted while my fingers throbbed. "Had enough?"

"Yeah, yeah, man," Dennis fumbled as one hand covered his head to ward off any potential blows. "Okay, easy, easy. Don't…you don't have to…anymore."

"Right, I'd better not," I growled, already starting to move away. "Why don't you think the next time you open your mouth, huh?"

I then heard a noise start to build as I backed away from the downed and humbled Dennis, almost like the slow pattering of rain as a thunderstorm approached, but I quickly realized that it was clapping. I looked around in shock and noticed that a few aliens and even humans that had been watching and listening to the entire exchange were applauding me for silencing the bigot. I could see relief on many of the faces, especially the aliens, and I lowered my head a bit, embarrassed at all the attention. Actually, I did not like that I was being rewarded for giving into my desires and slugging Dennis, but seeing the looks of approval in my direction warmed me somewhat and I gave timid nods to the people that I locked gazes with. Turns out this was the first impulsive decision I've made in a long time that actually amounted to something good.

I still needed to do something about my broken fingers, though. Stop the presses, everyone. Sam McLeod still can't fight for shit.

A few young turians had come to pat me on the back, but I disengaged from them awkwardly after trying my best to seem appreciative. I headed back into the convenience store and bought a pack of popsicle sticks and some medical tape. Now, what I should have done in this situation was go to a clinic to get my fingers looked at but I was fed up with admitting myself into a medical facility twice in the past few months. Not to discount fellow medical professionals, but I knew I could solve this problem by myself without taking a huge bite out of my co-pay.

I hustled up a nearby flight of stairs and sat down on a bench that faced out towards a wide window, giving me an unobstructed view of the cosmos. Now that's a sight that no computer screensaver could ever compare to. I could sit in this spot for hours just staring at the twinkling stars and the glowing nebula wisps. People on the Citadel might take such a sight for granted, but it never failed to enthrall me every time I got a chance to ponder to myself.

There certainly were worse places that I could have turned out to live in. Location, location, location, eh?

Taking out two popsicle sticks from the plastic bag, I snapped a quarter off of their lengths and lined the shortened sticks up with my broken index and middle fingers, which were now starting to turn an ugly shade of purple. I then tore off a long strip of the medical tape and tightly wrapped it around my fingers with the popsicle sticks acting as splints. The end result certainly did not look pretty but it would keep my fingers from bending and prolonging the healing process. I had some medi-gel of my own back at my apartment so I would do well to apply it when I got back. All in all, I figured that my fingers should be back to normal within the week. Done and done.

I was planning on getting back to my apartment now that I had my affairs all in order. Either that, or I could afford to spend a few more minutes stargazing. Both options seemed particularly likely that I would not be exposed to any more stressors for the day, which would be good for my overall mental health. Having to punch one person was enough.

Before I could do that, though, a voice interrupted me from my reverie. "Excuse me, sir?"

I glanced over at the side and quickly sat bolt-upright as I saw a faceless visor staring right at me. A quarian. My first thought was, _how the hell did she find me?!_ However, I quickly relaxed as I realized that this quarian was not the same one that I had saved in the alley. Whereas the first one's suit had been black with red accents, this one's had purple accented fabric wrapped around a black bodysuit. Also the voice was not the same as I remembered, which meant that I was safe for the time being. Still, I could not help but feel that this quarian looked somewhat familiar, but I just attributed that to the similarity of the enviro-suits. Yes, I know that sounds racist. Write up a complaint, why don't you?

Heart pounding in relief, I smoothed my shirt over to give myself a calmer appearance. "Yes, miss?" I asked in a friendly tone, remembering my manners.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir," the quarian said genuinely, "but do you know where Chora's Den is? I was told to meet someone near the side entrance there five minutes ago but I just can't find it."

"Chora's Den?" I repeated. "You're actually not too far. It's just one level up and you hang a right at the intersection. You should be able to locate the correct entrance from there." I brought out the map on my omni-tool to show her where she was headed.

"Okay," the quarian nodded before she hurriedly began to depart. "Thank you, sir!"

"No…problem," I ended up muttering to myself as I watched the quarian bustle up the nearest stairwell. I wondered if there was a deeper connotation for such an encounter but such a thought seemed a little too paranoid, even for me. I ended up just shelving that entire conversation, short as it may be, in my mental rubbish bin. Strangers ask for directions all the time so why should this instance be such a big deal for me?

In any case, I believed that it was about time that I headed back. I had quite the eventful afternoon today and I did not want to push my luck any further by tempting fate from stepping outside my apartment for too long. I could dress myself in comfortable clothes, order a pizza, crack open a beer, and watch reruns of football matches before I-

Oh. Oh fuck me. I cannot believe it did not just occur to me until now. How dense _are_ you, Sam?! What is it going to take to penetrate that thick skull of yours?!

Now I know why that quarian, the one who asked me for directions, looked so familiar to me. The name had just come to me at this very moment. That was Tali'Zorah, one of the most important members of Shepard's crew, only she was not part of Shepard's crew just yet. She still had to meet up with the human commander before she would officially become part of the narrative. And I just gave her directions to where thugs were waiting to ambush her.

" _Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap!"_ I savagely breathed to myself over and over again as I sprung off the bench and sprinted towards the stairwell that Tali had just gone up five minutes ago. I took the stairs three at a time, almost barreling over a few bystanders as I did so.

I wheeled around the corner at the exact same time I heard a series of gunshots echo from a nearby alley. Everyone on the boulevard froze at the noise and a pit appeared in my stomach. What if, because of my existence, I had given Tali directions to her location earlier than anticipated? What if that had ensured that the thugs stationed there would have gotten to her before Shepard did?

People were now beginning to crowd around the alley entrance anxiously. "God, please no." I whispered, mentally trying to atone for all the wrong I've ever done in my life. I pushed through the crowd, trying to see what had happened in the corridor. My pulse was racing and my eyes were wide open.

There was some resistance in the crowd and I could feel it pushing against me for some reason. It seemed like the throng was parting to let some people through. What happened next made me elated beyond words. An imposing figure decked in shiny black armor hurried through the gap, his shaven head glistening underneath the holographic lighting. With his chiseled expression and determined gaze, Commander Shepard looked even more heroic in the flesh (apparently he _was_ a male in this universe.) Trailing closely behind in his firm grip was the more diminutive form of Tali'Zorah, alive and unharmed. Both paid me no mind and the crowd closed up after another male human and a scarred krogan had followed the commander and quarian through.

I breathed out in relief. Everyone important was still alive, so that was good. I guess I dodged a bullet there.

Edging through the mass of people, I eventually got out in front to see what the hubbub had been about. A pair of medics were already on the scene in the alley, having entered from the opposite side. Three bodies lay on the ground, two of them salarians, the third a turian. The ground was streaked with blood and bullet holes pockmarked a few of the walls beyond. Evidence enough that one should not mess with Shepard and his crew. I was close enough to the bodies to make out that on one of the turian's hands, he only possessed a thumb and two notably shortened fingers. A wound like that would most likely have been caused by…a knife slash.

I felt the hilt of my knife that I kept in my waistband for support while I watched the medics cover the dead turian with a blanket. My glee was rapidly turning into concern the more I considered this. If what I thought was true and that turian that was lying stone dead on the floor over there was the same one I had injured all those months ago during that attack on the first quarian, then did my interference alter the course of events in some way? If I hadn't stabbed and maimed the turian, would he have been in better shape to take Shepard and his crew?

Could it be, that my actions potentially saved the lives of both Tali _and_ Shepard? It seemed too good to be true, but that also gave way to a new problem. Was every single solitary action that I performed here going to have repercussions upon the events of the plot of the games? What did I have to do to make sure that I stayed firmly outside of that sequence aside from exiling myself to some remote town in Wyoming? What was my purpose here? Why was I even here in the first place?! _Why_ , goddamn it, _why?!_

Despite the maelstrom of tormented thoughts, I was able to head back to my apartment in relative silence. Maybe if I had been privy to the exact details of the fight between Shepard and the goons, I could have been assured that my actions, while important, were not overly crucial to the survival of the protagonists. Alas, my presence had been absent from that encounter, so I had no godly way of knowing anything.

I never seemed to know anything important these days anyway.


	7. Overkill

You know what? Fuck this galaxy! Fuck Mass Effect! Fuck the Citadel and everyone on it! I've had enough, I tell you! I just cannot take any more of this crap! Mass Effect can go and die in a hole for all I care, because I've officially lost my fucking mind! That's right, Elvis has left the fucking building!

As it can probably be gleaned from my ranting, I'm rather upset at my current situation, and that's putting things mildly. What I can analyze is that all of the stress from the past few months had finally built up enough pressure that it had burst like a balloon, causing me to exhibit this fierce and sudden shift in temperament. Actually, I'm surprised that such a mental break had not occurred sooner, but it was apparent that now seemed like the appropriate time for my common sense to take a walk out the door for a short period of time, leaving me in the most vulnerable state of mind since my arrival. The connotations for this were…not good, to say the least.

This was the start of my lapse.

For context, I'm sure that many people have had an experience when they were so distraught, either from sadness or rage, that their emotions took over their actions for a short period of time. Getting transported to a completely different universe certainly qualifies as an appropriate catalyst. What I'm inferring is that my overall discomfort in being plopped right in the center of the Citadel finally overloaded my core thinking, resulting in an incredibly unhinged Sam. Of course, acting erratically out of blind instinct and not thinking things through does not tend to result in the best outcome possible. Rather, such craziness tends to wind up with the person in question leaving a trail of destruction in their wake (both literally and metaphorically speaking.)

This was one of those moments for me. It did not happen overnight, but I know that the underlying cause of my mental troubles had been started from when I had mistakenly involved myself yet again and most likely saved Shepard and Tali from harm in a skirmish – the straw the broke the camel's back, so to speak. That was just more proof being stacked against me that showed how many times that I was breaking my one rule: do not interfere. First the quarian in the alley and now this. It seemed that no matter how hard I tried, I could not help getting myself involved with things around here. It's like I was destined to play a part in the narrative (or screw it up majorly) when I had no desire to do so in the first place. I have been trying to let things play out as they should, yet all I was doing was messing things up despite my good intentions. Granted, I had not yet made any major slip-ups, but what if I did one day? What if I did change things so drastically through my own ineptitude? This disparity between what I considered to be my goal versus what my actions had created had resulted in the beginnings of my mental imbalance. One day after I had woken from my sleep, I had come to a final conclusion in my frail mindset that, in hindsight, seemed like a good idea at the time.

I had basically declared, _Fuck it. I'm going to kill myself._

I remember that I had tried to quash the idea of suicide out of my head for the few months that I was here, but now the concept was back in full force. I mean, in my head it seemed like I was being a hindrance to whatever the plot of the games had in mind. I was an unknown factor and my repeated presence threatened to undo everything related to the salvation of the galaxy. In no way did I want to be the cause of trillions of deaths, so I figured that trading one life for those was worth the cost. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, as Spock would say. In this case, the life of the few happened to be referring to me. This was just my own way of ensuring that I would definitely not screw things up further; if my presence in this universe was only going to cause chaos, then it would be wise to removing the offending presence from the equation, no?

See? Even when I spell it out it sounds reasonable. That's how much my mind was warped at the time, because no sane person would dare entertain the idea of offing themselves. In terms of my sanity, this was perhaps the darkest phase of my life up to this point. It was a flawed justification, yes, but logic was not going to win out this time.

It would take a miracle for me to come to my senses.

* * *

The day of my mental break with reality started out as normal as ever. I showered, ate, and got myself dressed before I headed out the door and hailed a skycar. Outwardly I appeared fine but internally, I was a complete and utter mess. A CT scan would show my brain in complete chaos, I bet. After a short jaunty in the air (or space, technically) I was then deposited at one of the Citadel's many civilian docks, which happened to be the place where I harbored my own transport, purchased out of pocket.

Being someone whose material tastes tend to run a little more modestly than what would be considered average for a millionaire, I had decided some time ago that I would have to allow myself to splurge on a big item of some sort. The big item that was on my mind was a space ship. It's pretty much everyone young male's childhood dream to own their own spacefaring vessel and this time I actually had the opportunity to purchase one of my own. Who woulda thunk? The only problem that stood in my way was the entire saga outlining the entire process for purchasing said ship.

To be honest, it was not even that big of a problem. Apparently in this universe, all one has to do in order to legally obtain a ship is to pass a test, sort of like a driver's license test, to determine if the user could properly fly a ship and fill out a bunch of paperwork that makes the college admissions process look like a pamphlet. It was surprising to me that the questions on the test were based more on common sense situations, like giving the right of way to someone or designating which zones were unsafe to fly, rather than technically-based queries. I mean, sure, I had to go over the controls of a test ship to make sure that I knew how to operate them but the software is so intuitive these days that piloting one is a hell of a lot easier than one would normally expect. It's not like you're flying an F-35 jet, but more like a very fancy sports car with a few extra bells and whistles. I had passed the test with flying colors and had the license added to my registry.

I had gone over to a dealership right after I had passed my test and spent the rest of the day browsing and haggling before I departed with, not one, but _two_ new ships in my name…as well as a significantly lighter wallet, about fifty million credits worth.

The ship that I took out for a spin today was my lighter, more agile ship. My other ship, the size of a small yacht, was parked in dry dock. The design of the sporty craft was sleek, with two elongated wings and a curved cockpit. It only held two in its cramped quarters as it was mainly designed for racing, considering the pedigree of its manufacturer. I won't get into specifics on how I managed to fly the damn thing in a manner that I would call adequate, but let me tell you, the first time I sat into the ship and had the stars whirling around me, I damn near soiled myself from excitement.

As it was, I managed to get the nimble little ship through the mass relay system and exited in the blink of an eye into a completely different solar system. Space magic, man. The fact that we now had the technology to transport ourselves instantly from one corner of the galaxy to the other is a concept that I still consider to be insane. Now that I was in this new location, the milky light of the Serpent Nebula was replaced with the cold blackness of space, illuminated only from the stars surrounding me. The autopilot took me past the bulk of the celestial objects that took up this solar system and I stared at them in awe as I passed through. I had every right to be amazed as these were objects that I had only seen in textbooks before. No other human from my time had ever gotten close to these planets before. Pluto, Neptune, Uranus, Saturn, Jupiter, Mars. I found myself rattling off the names of the planets until I began approaching the one that I was intending to land upon.

The third rock from the sun. The pale blue dot. Earth.

Despite what conceptions you have, most landing operations are not pilot-performed. Rather, the software on board the ship connects to the control tower of the destination you're trying to get to and they go through all of the proper handshake protocols. Once a secure connection is established, the control tower will assign a queue number for the ship's autopilot to activate, enabling it to land at the spaceport without ever having a rogue pilot potentially crash land in the hills nearby. That meant that, if I wanted to, I could crack open a beer, play a little ditty on a piano, or take a power nap while my ship essentially landed itself.

And yet there were people back in 2015 that had no clue on how to use turn signals. Now we had to trust people here with flying their own ships. The insurance companies had to be making a killing.

Once on the ground of Earth, I spent a good amount of time on the tarmac as I took everything in. It had been a while since I had experienced actual weather since the Citadel only had one climate. This was the first planet I had been on in that time, as crazy as it might sound. The sun warmed my face, high in the sky for it being the midafternoon, and the wind tugged at my clothes, the breeze refreshing. I took in a deep breath of the salty air and could hear the roar of the waves less than a mile away. Opening my eyes, I could see the lush green mountains line the horizon to the east, while to the west, a clear blue expanse rimmed as far as the eye could see. The Pacific Ocean.

Great weather for a last day.

This was Carmel, California. It was a relatively small ocean community the last time I had set eyes on it. My sister and I had been raised here for most of our lives – which primarily brought up fond thoughts. Carmel had good schools, a terrific atmosphere for sporting events, and the close-knit mindset of all of its members fostered an environment where everyone was super-friendly. My sister and I would always go to the beach and play with our friends seemingly every day during summer. We loved the water when it was crystal clear. However, I cannot recall for the life of me the last time I set foot into the sea.

It was definitely a trip down memory lane, coming here. I preferred to walk along the coast road instead of taking a cab at the spaceport and I was glad that I did. Not much had changed after a hundred and fifty years here. Well, that was a bit erroneous because a lot had changed here, it was just that the changes themselves were not all that drastic. The vehicles that were zooming all over the roads were definitely more futuristic-looking than their counterparts from 2015. The transports that did not require wheels were zooming overhead in the skyway lanes, creating a barrier from the ground to the cosmos. The roads had been repainted and the signs utilized a lot more holograms than just resorting to painted metal, but overall there was still a certain familiarity about the town which relieved me greatly.

Carmel 2.0, in a sense.

Downtown Carmel had also not changed much, from what I could recall. The city center still retained its original beach town look, complete with its trove of beach bums and hippies with the occasional alien thrown into the mix, even though a few skyscrapers that rose up over the neighborhoods threatened to disrupt my own image of the town. In fact, Carmel might have only gotten to be a wealthier town in the time that I had left on par with Monterrey next door. Swanky clothing shops lined the street and people rushed into coffee shops to buy overpriced and overheated drinks. Property like this only appreciates over time, especially property in California, so I guess I should not have been surprised at the natural evolution of the city itself. Forget Monterrey, Carmel had just gone full Santana Row.

I was still on Citadel time so I was not at all hungry, despite the allure of taking advantage of the post lunch rush lull. I completely ignored the multiple restaurants that I passed as I headed down the avenue towards a lush park a couple hundred meters away. Carmel itself was a busier town these days but it was leagues quieter than the Citadel that I relished the opportunity to think to myself while I walked outside. The sidewalk that led into the park turned into a worn footpath as I trekked up a small hill. I still knew where to go from memory and I counted the rows of stones that I passed as I happened upon an open field after passing underneath a grove of shrubs. I headed for the lone oak tree out in the field that was closest to me, seeking not the shade but the weathered object beside it.

Wringing my hands, I slowed my pace down to a timid walk and approached the marker in question, passing several objects just like it in its row. Shielded from the sun by the leaves of the tree, I sighed as my body was shrouded in shadow and cooled from the heat. I looked up at the scant beams that managed to penetrate the green cover before I mustered the courage to look down again.

The headstone that I was standing in front of was cross shaped, granite. It was cool to the touch and I patted the solid stone before I gave a sad smile and knelt down at the grave, unsure of where to look exactly.

"Hello…sis," I whispered.

As I slowly brushed my hand along the front of the gravestone, I traced the letters "TAYLOR MCLEOD" with my fingers. The indented print felt sharp to my touch and I gave the stone another pat of assurance – mainly for myself.

"I know it's been a while since I last visited you," I spoke to the air, "and for that, I apologize. Things have been…really crazy for me and I only thought of coming here rather recently. It's good to see that some things haven't changed, though."

I looked around the cemetery just to make sure that no one was within earshot. It appeared that I was alone so I turned back to my sister's grave and continued to speak.

"I haven't talked to Mom or Dad in a while, although I can't imagine what they had been thinking for…well, I'll get to that soon. They're doing fine. They miss you…and so do I. The last thing I can recall was them sending you their love, but I'm sure you know just how loved you were. To be honest, they're not doing too well as you leaving really took their toll on them. If only…"

I tilted my head as I imagined Taylor asking me a question. "Who, me? Actually…I'm not doing so hot, Taylor. I'm not going to go into too many specifics, but I just wanted to do this one last thing before I go. I figured I owed you that at least."

Sitting down, I looked upward at the clear sky and put on a pondering look, my heart beating a tad heavier despite the fact that I was technically talking to no one. "Knowing you, you'd probably want some sort of explanation for me being so late. I wouldn't normally tell this to anyone but you've always been the most open-minded person I've ever known – my greatest friend. Heh, I've heard that's the sign of a healthy sibling relationship. Are you ready? Here it goes." I took a breath for effect. "I somehow got whisked away to the Mass Effect universe...and now I'm here."

I could picture Taylor's stunned expression in my mind and I could not help smiling at the mental image. I relished the opportunity for a bit longer before I continued.

"I know, right?" I laughed to myself. "I'm in the world of that video game that you always used to play in high school. Remember that I used to mock you mercilessly for supposedly placing more stock on the virtual relationships in the game versus your actual relationships with real people? Well, look who's laughing now?" I paused to give the Taylor in my head the chance to reply. "I knew that you would be jealous of me, considering how much time you put into romancing your alien boyfriend. To tell you the truth, I'd rather you were here than me. After all the time I've spent here…I just don't think I'm cut out for this."

My head tilted as I imagined Taylor pressuring me with a well-placed question.

"How did I get here? Funny you should ask. Now, how can I put this as delicately as I can? Screw it, I'm just going to say it outright. I deliberately crashed my car in the city and got here as a result."

Yep, I could already imagine Taylor scolding me. I winced and grabbed at the grass below my feet for support.

"Hey, it's not like I knew this was going to happen. I had no intention of coming to this universe as I had no idea that such a thing was possible. You're not exactly the patron saint of living life to the fullest. I'm sorry to be blunt, but you were not there for the past eight years. I was _miserable_ back in 2015. I'm miserable _now_ , actually. I'm at my wit's end, Taylor. If you could only know of the pain I have been in since you left, you would understand my situation. I'm tired of either being a burden or having to carry this mental baggage around for the rest of my life. I just want to be done with everything. If I can't live a normal life, then what use is living for me?"

I stood up suddenly and shook my head as I turned away to face the dark trunk of the tree.

"Don't try to talk me out of this, sis. I've made up my mind on the matter. Besides, you know as well as I do that this place could become a warzone in a few years. If I'm not gone by that time, I sure as hell will be then. Besides, if there is an afterlife…and there better be, I might actually see you again when this is all over."

I screwed up my eyes in thought. "That is, if this next attempt does not take me to yet _another_ violent franchise. I've gone through more shit than anyone could ever hope to achieve in ten lifetimes."

Turning back to the grave, I walked to the side and slid my hand over the sanded stone one last time. "I won't be back to visit you again, Taylor. I just wanted to let you know that I tried. I really tried, but I couldn't go on. I only-,"

Wait. I just noticed something on the headstone and it didn't look right. I knelt down and rubbed my hand along the two numbers printed in serif font just below Taylor's name. There was nothing wrong with how the dates were printed, it's just that the actual numbers were completely different than what I had been expecting.

TAYLOR MCLEOD  
2157-2175

"What the hell?" I muttered as I slowly stood back up in shock. That made no sense. Why did this headstone indicate that Taylor had been born in 2157 and had died in 2175? She was born in 1989 and died in 2007. I should know that because I'm her freaking brother! Why did this grave indicate that she had only died eight years after the current year that I happened to be inhabiting now unless…

Unless Taylor had also been a part of this universe as well. Was this just a coincidence or did my lives in 2015 and 2183 directly parallel one another here? Taylor had crossed over, apparently, just like me. The grave was all the evidence I needed unless this was one elaborate practical joke. But was she always a part of this universe in the beginning, or did she cross over when I crossed over?

Now I was hopelessly confused again. Did the events in this universe play out in the exact same fashion as mine? Had the life of this Sam McLeod experience the same tragedies that I had, only to be diverted when I had been transported onto the scene? Was I just a wandering consciousness inhabiting the shell of an entirely different person? What the fuck was going on?

In any case, it made little difference. Taylor was dead here, same as when I was back in 2015. Whether it was from the same fashion, it did not matter. The situation remained the same and that was a change that had nothing to do with me, from what I could gather.

Then again, it had everything to do with me.

"Who am I?" I whispered as I backed away from Taylor's grave. "What am I doing here?"

I could no longer picture Taylor in my mind, cutting off my access to an assuring presence. The wind was now starting to penetrate my clothing, causing me to feel a chill. Clutching my jacket tightly, I quickly turned around and headed down the hillside path that led back to town. I felt more uneasy than ever, almost like the moment when you know you just failed an exam and there was nothing you could have done to earn a better grade at the time. I hated that feeling, but from the clamminess of my hands and the fierce beating of my heart, I was clearly not in a good way.

All right, Sam. You know what you have to do. You came here for a reason so you might as well complete your objective. No backing out now.

"Goodbye, Taylor," I whispered as I walked out of the graveyard. I had to fight not to look behind me.

* * *

I had passed an all-purpose convenience store when I first walked into town so I already had an idea for where I was going to peruse first. The place had all sorts of items on display from electronics to gardening equipment to even a musical instrument section. I had no idea of what I was looking for in the first place so I aimlessly floated from aisle to aisle for fifteen minutes, randomly picking out items that I thought would be good before I headed over to the registers with my catch for the day.

The self-checkout lines had the same basic function just like in 2015. Slide the items through the scanner (cameras denoted items via visual profiles instead of barcodes these days) and the screen tells you how much it costs. As casually as I could muster, I scanned and bagged a length of thick rope, a can of motor oil (a material apparently still in demand despite most vehicles being fitted with eezo fuel cells instead of internal combustion engines), and a canister of Naproxen - a popular anti-inflammatory drug.

The cashier manning the security station glanced inside my bag as I was exiting, while I tried to surreptitiously stare somewhere else, unsure if the woman knew of my sad intention.

"Rope, oil, and pills," the woman said out loud before giving me a sly smile. "Planning some kind of bonfire, are we now?"

"Ahahaha!" I laughed through my teeth, perhaps a bit too jovially. Acting casually when necessary really is not my strong suit, evidentially. My face might as well have been made out of hardwood, for it felt like such an effort for me to crack a smile. I'm sure the end result must have looked like I was constipated. "Just a few materials…for the house. Nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Damn it, Sam. Why did you have to ask if something was wrong with that? Now all the cashier is going to think is that something _is_ wrong with that!

Thankfully, the woman did not seem to notice or care and she waved for me to move on while she examined the next customer's purchase. Once in the lot, I slowly breathed out through my clenched teeth, shook out my arms to eliminate the tenseness in my muscles, and walked along the beach road without looking back. The sun was nearing the horizon by this point and would set within the hour. It would make for some good scenery while walking in the twilight.

It was completely ludicrous at how calm I was, but the chemicals in my brain that relayed fear and anxiety had been run completely dry at this point. Nothing left to do except put on a glib attitude. Who says suicides have to be somber and tense affairs?

It took me fifteen minutes to reach the park at Point Lobos, my final destination for the evening. The trailheads were clear of pedestrians, thankfully, which would mean that I would be able to carry out my business uninterrupted. I was on my second cigarette of my hike and I casually puffed out plumes of smoke while I walked. Despite my relative calmness, I needed to keep this overall mood subdued somewhat so that I would not flake at a critical moment. Two cigarettes was not going to do much, admittedly, but it was certainly better than nothing.

Heh, they said cigarettes would eventually kill me, but all of those naysayers would be proven wrong today. Take that Mr. Surgeon General! You and your warning labels can kiss my ass!

The roaring of the waves grew louder and I tramped my way through the parched grass of the park. Pushing aside the low hanging branches of a maple tree, I stopped in my tracks as I took in the sight in front of me.

White foamy caps of waves from the Pacific crashed onto the rocks thirty feet below me, swelling angrily. The cliff that I was standing on was sheer, immediately dropping away into the ocean. Jagged rocks lined the base of the cove and the wind was at its fiercest here. I flicked my cigarette over the edge and the strong gales nearly sent it back into my face.

Point Lobos was a peninsula of sorts that had been a spot of steady tourism in the past for visitors to Carmel. The site's jagged spears of land were great places for marine life to gather and people always had fun picking through tide pools for crabs and urchins, and also there were great places to spot sea lions as they sunned themselves on the rocks. Many a picture from amateur phone photographers that appeared on the many social media sites in the relative past came from this location.

I was not here for the wildlife, though, and I pushed past the shrubs to walk onto the barren and rocky outcroppings that towered over the tidelines. I took a peek over the side down into one of the smaller coves before I pronounced everything satisfactory.

Yes, this would definitely be a decent place to kill myself.

I dropped my bag of goodies at my feet, the blood-red sun nearly blinding me at this point. I took out the rope, oil, and pills and laid them out on the rocks one by one. The rope I tied into a simple not, partially because I wanted to get this over with as soon as possible and partially because I had no idea how to tie a noose and I did not want to waste any time on the extranet looking up the instructions. Laziness wins the battle again. Next, I unscrewed the cap to the oil container and tipped it so that the thick liquid splashed against the back of my jacket, dousing it with the foul substance and causing a stink to rise into the air. It's a new scent: _Ode de lubricant_. (The "t" is silent)

Lastly, I opened the bottle of Naproxen and peered into it. There were only fifteen capsules inside due to pharmaceutical restrictions, but I knew that fifteen capsules would definitely be enough to do the job. Without giving it a second thought, I proceeded to tip the bottle towards my mouth and I swallowed all of the pills without a debilitating amount of discomfort. All of this was most likely a bit extreme but when I had already tried to off myself via a car accident and that had managed to severely backfire, there was no way that I was going to take any chances whatsoever. Granted, I would probably be dead before the pills could cause an overdose, but it was better to cover all my bases in this case.

Still reeking of motor oil, I bent down to tie the other end of the rope around a protruding rock formation. I gave it a couple tugs to make sure that the rope would stay secure, but since I was never an Eagle Scout I could not really give it a certification of a hundred percent on my end. So much for the merit badge.

Bear in mind, I was fully conscious of my actions at this point in time. I knew what I was attempting and despite me not liking it, I still could not see the futility in my actions. I slipped the loop of rope around my neck and stepped to the edge of the cliff, my pistol now in hand. The gun itself was a last resort for me. If all of my preparations would somehow fail to kill me, then the gun certainly would do the trick. Point and shoot. Bang bang. Adios, amigos.

I thought about dwelling some more on all of the good that occurred in my life, but that would have just resulted in stalling my suicide. No, it had to be right now! I had to get my mind out of the clouds and do this!

Goodbye, cruel world, I believe the saying goes.

After I rummaged around in my pocket, I quickly brought out my lighter and ignited it near my back. The oil-soaked jacket immediately lit up and the flames spread all along the spilled area. This was the first time I had ever been on fire and although the sensation was not agonizing yet, I knew that it would be. The heat coming from the flames licking at my back was starting to get uncomfortable and I arched my body in an attempt to evade the pain.

All right, screw this. No more waiting around. The die has been cast and the timer set.

Clenching my eyes shut, I uttered a final, strangled curse before I took two steps at a brisk jog and leaped off the cliff, the rope snug around my neck and the fire streaming in the wind. The pills in my stomach ached uncomfortably and there was a weird sensation of weightlessness for a brief, blissful moment. I then quickly brought the gun that was still tightly held in my hand up to my skull, wasted no time in hesitating, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

To be blunt, I fucked up.

To be more specific, I fucked up my suicide. Again. In the most spectacular way in human history.

When I had fired the gun at the terminus of my leap off the cliff, I had my eyes closed at the time and my sense of coordination was not running at its peak. That meant that while I thought I was aiming at my head, I was actually aiming four inches above it. Pulling the trigger merely deafened me at first instead of killing me, but that was just the tip of the iceberg for what would happen next.

With a spot of most unfortunate luck, the bullet sailed harmlessly over my head and sheared directly through the rope that was trailing behind me, not yet taut. That sliced me free and saved me from a hanging, whereupon I plunged into the deep blue waters of the cove after a three second fall. Incredibly, I missed all of the jagged rocks that protruded from the ocean and landed in a safe zone that was murky with sand, submerging me for a bit. The water also had the side effect of extinguishing the flames coming from my jacket, ridding me of the danger of burning to death. To add insult to my non-injuries, when I discovered that I was harmlessly underneath the water instead of deceased, I had opened my mouth in shock. That caused water to pour down my throat, resulting in me spluttering helplessly as I surfaced. I inhaled another gulp of saltwater and I gagged, finally vomiting the contents of my stomach into the sea which included all of the pills in my stomach that had not yet the chance to digest. No more danger of overdosing for me.

The final disgraceful blow came from the ocean itself, as a wave picked me up and bodily sent me into an alcove carved into the rock. I slammed face first into the side of the cliff and began bleeding from half a dozen facial cuts, adding to the ever intrusive misery upon my personality. Tired, dizzy, and incredulous at my position, I blinked up at the sky while my damp clothes clung to my skin, an uncomfortable sensation.

It was only after a stray crab had begun to nip at my leg did I finally summon the strength to stand, still a bit stunned. Kicking away the offending crustacean, I hobbled along the side of the cliff that led towards the beach but not after letting out an unearthly howl of rage. The sound of the waves would drown out the noise to bystanders but, even though I was half-deaf, I could still feel the power behind my scream. All of the frustration, anger, and utter despair that I had kept bottled up for months on end became unleashed through this one drawn-out, guttural declaration. I kept roaring for at least a minute, shaking my fists at the heavens as if to say, " _Why me?!"_

Did this entire sequence of events come about as coincidence or were there higher powers at work preventing me from making a serious mistake? Am I not meant to die at this point in time or am I just reading too hard into this?

What if, after all, I was meant to be here? What if…this was where I belonged? If that was the case, then why didn't I know what my purpose was? I was tired of always being in the dark, not knowing what was going on around me. I wanted answers and I wanted them now, but I knew that the universe rarely gave explanations for all phenomena straight out. I was going to have to seek out the solution to this quandary all by myself.

Why me, indeed.

* * *

It had fallen dark by the time I left the park at Point Lobos. I was still a little too messed up for me to consider utilizing any form of transportation to get myself back home, so I had trudged over in my sopping wet clothes to a nearby motel and got myself a room for the night. The clerk had looked disapprovingly at my disheveled appearance but I was just so miserable at the time that I did not care what anyone else thought.

If only they knew what I had just gone through.

Now, I was sitting in the shower of the rented room, still clad in my boxers, while piping hot water rained down on top of me, warming myself after spending an ungodly time in those damp and salty clothes. I sighed as my tortured muscles relaxed under the spray. This was just what I needed after that shambles of a suicide attempt. There were a few blisters on my back, a slight rope burn on my neck, my stomach was giving me a little indigestion, and my face was marred by a few cuts. But I was alive. Alive and for the first time…glad.

Continuing to relish the hot water, I remained lying down in the tub for another half hour, thinking of nothing but how stupid I was. The steaming spray felt like it was slapping some sense into me the more I lingered here. Yes, I was stupid, an idiot, and a fool. Why did I ever come to the conclusion that suicide would be the best thing for me? That was the most immature and selfish mistake that I could have ever made. I clearly had learned nothing from my stint in 2015 and here I was trying to repeat it. Ironic that it had taken another attempt for me to see the error of my ways.

"No more," I whispered to myself, eyes half-lidded. "No more."

I slowly sat up in the shower, feeling rejuvenated from the sauna-like environment. After all…who said that I have to be miserable about everything? The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I was in a new universe where traveling in space was commonplace. I could interact with species outside of humans. I had the potential to be anything here, so what right did I have to be upset?

After all, the events of the games had begun to take shape in such a way that I knew I could not affect them greatly unless I deliberately tried to alter them. My presence would not be an intrusion here, I could still have a regular life! Oh man, why did it take me so long to realize how much I wanted to live? I could picture Taylor's face in my head, strangely not upset at the prospect of no longer being reunited with me, but proud that I had come to this decision. If she was here right now, she would probably give me a hug.

"I'm not going to kill myself," I said slowly and deliberately as I stood up, the water now approaching burning temperatures.

_Say it again, Sam._

"I'm not going to kill myself."

_Say it like you mean it!_

"I'm not going to kill myself," I repeated louder than before.

_One more time!_

"I'm not going to kill myself!" I yelled triumphantly, punctuating my outburst with blows of my fists upon the shower walls. "I will not die here! Haha! I will not kill myself! I'm done! I'm done! _I'm done!_ "

Laughing for what had to be the first time in quite a while, I finally felt a weight lift off of my chest. I was free. No longer did my future look dark. On the contrary, it seemed almost blinding.


End file.
